JN  VERSITY  OF  CA  RIVERS  DE.  LIBRARY 


3  121001851  6557 


LIBRARY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


iLrtij    C  9 


STUDIES 


BY 

WILSON     FLAGG. 


"  All  that  the  genial  ray  of  morning  gilds, 
And  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even."  —  BEATTIE, 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE,    BROWN    AND    COMPANY. 

1857. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

LITTLE,  BROWN  AND   COMPANY, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

ALLEN    AND    FARNHAM,   PRINTERS. 


PREFACE. 


THE  descriptions  of  the  phases  of  the  year,  included 
in  this  volume,  were  first  printed  in  the  years  1839  and 
1840,  in  the  "  Boston  Weekly  Magazine,"  published  by 
D.  H.  Ela  and  John  B.  Hall.     The  author  afterwards, 
for  several  years,  devoted  himself  entirely  to  the  politi 
cal  press.     Finding  at  last,  that  to  keep  along  with  his 
party,  he  must  be  prepared,  on  the  arrival  of  every  new 
era,  to  repudiate,  if  not  to  execrate  the  opinions  and 
measures   which    he    had    formerly   defended,    he    re 
nounced    all   connection   with   politics,   and   in    1853, 
resumed   his   occupation  in  that  department  of  litera 
ture  which  he  had  so  long  neglected.     The  pieces  now 
presented  to  the  public   are  a  selection  from  the  con 
tributions  of  the  author  to  the  periodical  press,  with  the 
addition  of  several  new  ones.     A  large  portion  of  these 
appeared  originally  in   Charles  M.  Hovey's  "  Magazine 
of    Horticulture,"    and    a    few    others    in    the    "  Salem 
Gazette,"  in  which  the  descriptions  of  the  months  were 
likewise    reprinted.     As  these   essays  were  written   at 


IV  PREFACE. 

different  times,  and  published  in  different  journals,  with 
out  any  original  intention  of  making  a  book  of  them, 
the  reader  will  be  able  to  account  for  occasional  repeti 
tions,  and  for  the  want  of  those  easy  transitions  from 
one  chapter  to  another,  which  would  have  rendered  the 
volume  more  unique. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.    INTRODUCTION              ....  1 

II.    JANUARY     .....  8 

III.  A  COLD  DAY  .            .            .            .            .  17 

IV.  SOUNDS  FROM  INANIMATE  NATURE       .  21 
V.     FEBRUARY                 ,  .            .            .            .30 

VI.    KUINS           .            .            .            .            .  38 

VII.     ROCKS    ......  45 

VIII.  OLD  ROADS  .  .  .  .  52 

IX.    MARCH  ......  57 

X.  WEATHER  SIGNS  ....  65 

XL  COLORS  AND  FRAGRANCE  OF  FLOWERS  .  75 

XII.  APRIL  .  .  .  .  '  .  87 

XIII.  THE  VERNAL  FLOWERS         .            .            .  96 

XIV.  PLEA  FOR  THE  BIRDS      .            .            .  106 
XV.     THE  SINGING  BIRDS  AND  THEIR  SONGS     .  113 

XVI.     MAY 123 

XVII.    WOOD  SCENERY  IN  MAY       .  .  .130 

XVIII.     ON  MULTIPLYING  THE  BIRDS  AROUND  OUR 

DWELLINGS  138 


vi  CONTENTS. 

XIX.  JUNE      ....  .148 

XX  A  SUMMER  NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS  159 

XXI.  MORNING  IN  SUMMER             .            .  .        167 

XXII.  JULY            ....  174 

XXIII.  THE  SEA-SHORE           .            .            .  .183 

XXIV.  AUGUST 190 

XXV.  THE  THREE  DEITIES  .            .            .  .200 

XXVI.  ANGLING     .            .            .            .  203 

XXVII.  THE  FLOWERLESS  PLANTS     .            .  .210 

XXVIII.  SEPTEMBER             ....  221 

XXIX.  Music  OF  INSECTS      ....        228 

XXX.  THE  FLOWERS  OF  AUTUMN        .            .  236 

XXXI.  OCTOBER           .            .            .            .  .241 

XXXII.  CLOUDS        .....  249 

XXXIII.  WATER  SCENERY        .            .            .  .260 

XXXIV.  NOVEMBER              .            .            .            .  267 
XXXV.  THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF      .            .  .276 

XXXVI.  THE  INDIAN  SUMMER       .            .            .  288 

XXXVII.  PICTURESQUE  ANIMALS          .            .  .        292 

XXXVIII.  DECEMBER  .            .            .            .            .  302 

XXXIX.  OLD  HOUSES  AND  THEIR  INCLOSURES  .        310 

XL.  FLIGHT  OF  THE  WOOD-NYMPHS  320 


STUDIES   IN  THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 


I. 

v     INTRODUCTION. 


THE  object  of  this  work  is  to  foster  in  the  public- 
mind  a  taste  for  the  observation  of  natural  objects  and 
to  cultivate  that  sentiment  which  is  usually  designated 
as  the  love  of  nature.     Whatever  may  be  our  situation 
in  life,  this  habit  of  the  mind  will  contribute  to  our  hap 
piness,  in  proportion  as  it  predominates  over  our  taste 
for  other  pleasures,  without  interfering  with  our  neces 
sary  avocations.     No  man,  like  the  brute,  can  be  happy 
from  the  mere  gratification  of  his  animal  wants.     All 
our  pleasures,  including  those  derived  from  the  survey 
of  nature,  must  be  exalted  by  some  poetic  sentiment,  or 
they  will  soon  become  tiresome  and  insipid.     The  ox 
that  grazes  in  the  pasture  undoubtedly  receives  gratifi 
cation  from  the  sight  of  green  fields  and  the  smell  of 
fresh  meadows :  but  he  has  no  ideality.     He  weaves  no 
pleasant  images  of  fancy  with  the  scenes  he  loves  to- 
frequent  ;  his  mind  is  singularly  practical,  and  his  taste 
is-  entirely    unconnected   with    any   mental    emotions- 
He  cherishes  no  illusions  save  those  which  may  be  sug 
gested  by  his  fears.     A  man  of  low  intellect  may  be 
hold  with  rapture  a  garden  abounding  in  ripe  and  deli 
cious  fruits ;   but  for  him  the  garden  has  no  illusive 
1 


2  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

charms,  nor  will  his  dull  imagination  lead  him  to  ad 
mire  a  single  object  that  is  without  self-evident  utility. 

There  are.  many  persons  who  live  a  long  life  in  the 
country,  without  acquiring  this  imaginative  habit  of  the 
mind.  They  can  enjoy  the  sight  of  any  thing  that  con 
tributes  to  their  comfort,  or  to  the  gratification  of  their 
wants  and  appetites,  and  of  that  sort  of  beauty  which 
is  glaring  like  a  modern  parterre ;  but  they  are  still  un- 
imbued  with  the  love  of  nature.  This  is  the  gift  of 
those  who  have  passed  beyond  the  ordinary  plodding 
stage  of  mental  culture,  and  who  have  learned  to  asso 
ciate  with  almost  every  object  in  nature  some  image 
derived  from  the  imagination.  I  believe  that  all  civilized 
people  are  more  or  less  affected  by  it ;  but  with  many 
it  is  a  circumstance  from  which  they  derive  a  great  pro 
portion  of  the  happiness  they  find  in  this  life.  It  is  this 
sentiment  more  than  any  other  that  enables  one  to  be 
happy  in  retirement.  He  who,  when  released  from  the 
cares  of  his  usual  occupations,  can  find  pleasure  in  a 
walk  in  the  fields,  has  a  fund  of  enjoyment,  at  almost 
all  times  and  seasons,  outside  of  his  own  doors.  To 
persons  of  this  character  nature  always  furnishes  exer 
cise  both  for  the  reason  and  the  imagination.  Hence 
there  are  two  classes  of  persons  that  derive  pleasure 
from  rural  studies  and  pursuits,  —  those  who  study 
natural  history  as  a  science,  and  those  who  survey  the 
landscape,  and  its  various  objects,  with  a  mind  stored 
with  poetic  imagery,  of  which,  in  one  form  or  another, 
almost  every  object  is  suggestive.  These  suggestions 
may  arise  from  images  derived  from  our  reading  or 
from  our  experience ;  but  no  man  was  ever  an  enthusi 
astic  lover  of  nature,  without  a  proportional  share  of 
poetic  sensibility. 

A  child  is  pleased  with  a  flower,  because  it  affects  the 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

sight  with  an  agreeable  sensation.  Later  in  life,  flowers 
would  fail  to  yield  us  any  pleasure,  did  we  not  associate 
them  with  certain  agreeable  fancies;  with  the  remem 
brance  perhaps  of  the  pleasures  they  afforded  us  in 
childhood,  and  of  their  connection  with  many  simple 
and  interesting  adventures;  with. the  offices  of  friend 
ship  and  love,  and  their  association  with  numerous 
poetic  and  romantic  images.  But  in  some  minds 
flowers  become  s»  intimately  allied  with  those  interest 
ing  sentiments,  that  they  are  beheld  with  still  more  de 
light  than  they  afforded  in  childhood.  It  is  for  this  rea 
son  that  if  one  spent  his  early  years  in  the  country,  the 
wild  flowers  are  so  much  more  pleasing,  to  a  cultivated 
and  poetic  mind,  than  the  fairest  exotics,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  those  which  have  always  been  naturalized  in  our 
gardens. 

He  who  lays  out  a  garden  with  a  gorgeous  profusion 
of  flowers,  so  disposed  as  to  make  a  dazzling  kalei- 
oscopic  picture,  and  causing  the  grounds  to  resemble  a 
brilliant  Turkey  carpet,  forgets  that  by  this  arrangement 
he  destroys  all  their  power  to  contribute  to  the  pleasures 
of  sentiment.  The  flowers  are  then  degraded  to  act 
the  part  of  the  mere  threads  which  are  used  to  form  the 
beautiful  designs  in  tapestry.  They  lose  thereby  all 
their  individuality  and  all  their  poetry.  They  are  ren 
dered  by  their  assemblage,  productive  only  of  an  agree 
able  physical  sensation :  for  this  reason,  minds  of  an 
inferior  order  derive  the  most  pleasure  from  these  inane 
exhibitions.  Those  gardens  in  which  the  flowers  are 
few  and  not  artificially  arranged,  are  the  most  pleasing 
to  a  man  of  rational  sensibility.  As  soon  as  they  begin 
to  dazzle  the  eyes,  they  cease  to  interest  the  mind  or  to 
affect  the  imagination. 

Man  may  derive  the  same  pleasure  from  a  garden 


4  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD    AND   FOREST. 

as  from  the  wilds,  if  he  attempts  only  to  gratify  his 
love  of  nature,  instead  of  his  vanity  or  ambition.  I 
believe  the  most  happiness  is  found  in  those  little  flower- 
gardens,  which  are  cultivated  by  humble  people  in  the 
country,  and  contain  a  scanty  variety,  hardly  exceed 
ing  that  of  the  next  wild  wood  or  pasture.  In  a  garden 
plat  laid  out  in  the  most  simple  manner,  a  few  ordinary 
flowers  which  are  as  familiar  to  us  as  the  dandelion  and 
the  buttercup,  often  form  a  border  around  the  square 
beds  that  are  devoted  to  culinary  vegetables.  Among 
these  a  few  daffodils  greet  the  inmates  of  the  house,  in 
early  spring,  with  a  swarm  of  pleasing  memories,  and 
infuse  into  their  souls  the  glow  of  happier  days  and 
years.  Occasional  clusters  of  tulips  come  up  in  this 
border  so  modestly,  as  hardly  to  remind  one  that  they 
are  emblematical  of  display.  Here  the  lily  is  truly  the 
symbol  of  meekness ;  and  the  roses,  that  are  scattered 
sparingly  among  other  plants,  are  sure  to  awaken  that 
delightful  sentiment  which  is  always  associated  with 
this  flower,  in  the  rude  pasture  or  in  a  humble  garden. 

The  only  approach  to  what  may  be  called  an  imita 
tion  of  nature,  in  a  garden,  is  the  avoidance  of  profu 
sion  ;  for  Nature  does  not  plant  her  flowers  in  clumps, 
and  seldom  makes  any  single  species  grow  together 
exclusively  or  in  great  abundance.  The  very  scarcity 
of  certain  species  constitutes  a  part  of  their  charm ; 
and  half  the  cause  of  our  preference  of  wild  flowers  to 
those  of  the  garden,  is  the  habit  of  finding  them  half 
concealed  in  some  little  dingle,  or  under  the  protection 
of  a  loftier  plant,  where  they  serve  to  emblem  some 
interesting  moral  trait  or  affection.  How  soon  would 
the  field,  the  wild  wood,  and  the  pasture  lose  all  their 
attractions,  if  they  were  crowded  with  flowers  as  some 
vain  people  crowd  their  gardens.  All  the  poetry  of 


INTRODUCTION.  O 

nature  would  vanish  with  this  profusion,  and  half  the 
pleasure  we  derive  from  the  survey  of  her  works,  would 
be  destroyed; 

The  love  of  nature  is  an  humble  affection  of  the  mind 
that  may  render  every  man  happy.  It  has  no  connec 
tion  with  vanity,  and  finds  more  pleasure  in  contem 
plating  a  simple  and  modest  flower-garden,  reared  by 
some  pious  votary  of  nature,  than  the  most  gorgeous 
parterre.  It  is  a  false  notion,  that  without  wealth  one 
has  no  means  of  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  a  garden  ;  or 
that  one  must  live  in  a  showy  house  to  give  evidence  of 
taste.  The  "  love  of  the  beautiful "  has  lately  become 
a  subject  of  the  merest  cant ;  for  a  love  of  the  beauti 
ful,  except  as  it  is  connected  with  sentiment,  is  no  better 
than  the  taste  of  the  savage  who  daubs  himself  with 
paint,  or  of  the  dandy  who  covers  himself  with  jewelry. 
The  most  uncultivated  and  prosaic  of  mankind  have 
that  love  of  the  beautiful  which  indulges  itself  in  gor 
geous  tapestry,  dazzling  embellishments,  highly  orna 
mented  houses,  and  fashionable  finery.  Such  are  the 
men  who  see  no  charms  in  nature,  unless  she  be  dressed 
like  the  estate  of  a  nobleman.  No  people  can  ;be  ren 
dered  more  happy  by  the  cultivation  of  this  love  of 
mere  agreeable  sensations.  I  would  encourage  frugal 
ity  in  the  decoration  of  nature,  as  well  as  in  the  decora 
tion  of  the  person  ;  and  I  would  plant  flowers,  not  as 
mere  beautiful  objects,  but  as  emblems  of  some  pleas 
ing  traits  of  character,  and  material  forms  that  serve  to 
awaken  in  the  mind  some  poetic  image,  that  shall  nur 
ture  and  delight  the  soul. 

The  love  of  nature  is  planted  more  or  less  in  every 
human  breast,  though  in  many  it  is  not  sufficient  to  re 
press  the  more  energetic  love  of  finery  and  display. 
But  the  eagerness  with  -which  all  persons,  w.hen  em- 

1* 


6  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

ployed  in  decorating  a  hall  for  a  festive  occasion,  seize 
an  opportunity  to  go  into  the  woods,  shows  an  innate 
love  of  nature  still  glowing  warmly  in  their  hearts. 
Upon  arriving  there  and  commencing  their  rustic  work 
of  plunder,  beneath  the  odorous  pines  or  among  the 
trailing  evergreens,  they  are  struck  with  surprise  at  the 
sudden  buoyancy  that  animates  their  spirits.  There 
are  but  few  who  have  yet  learned  how  nature  is  ever 
ready  to  contribute  to  the  enjoyments  of  these,  who, 
with  humble  mind  are  ready  to  receive  her  gifts,  where 
only  they  can  be  fully  enjoyed,  under  the  threshold  of 
her  own  temples  in  the  fields  and  woods.  It  is  then, 
while  looking  with  delight  upon  the  husbandman  en 
gaged  in  his  rustic  toils,  we  feel  a  painful  regret  that 
we  ourselves  cannot  return  to  those  occupations,  which 
are,  after  all,  the  truest  sources  of  happiness. 

Nature,  by  having  endowed  mankind  with  this  innate 
love  of  rural  pursuits,  proves  her  design  that  our  happi 
ness  should  depend  on  her  own  munificence ;  and  on 
the  love  with  which  her  scenes  inspire  us,  depends  our 
capacity  to  preserve  our  minds  from  sadness,  and  to 
turn  the  good  things  of  earth  into  fountains  of  joy. 
She  has  disclosed  to  the  eyes  of  the  worldly  man,  only 
the  mere  surface  of  beauty :  but  for  him  who  yields 
himself  to  her  guidance,  there  is  an  inner  light  pro 
vided  that  opens  to  him  an  infinite  world  of  wonders 
and  stores  of  happiness.  The  green  plain  and  the  blue 
vault  of  heaven  do  not  escape  the  notice  of  the  most 
uncultivated  boor  ;  but  to  the  man  of  feeling  alone  do 
they  convey  an  idea  of  the  immensity  of  the  one,  and 
the  infinite  beauty  of  the  other. 

Man  can  make  himself  happy  only  by  confining  his 
ambition  to  the  simple  attainment  of  the  approbation 
of  virtuous  men,  and  by  restraining  his  desires  within 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

the  bounds  of  a  few  acres,  cultivated  by  his  own  hand. 
Then  will  he  find  his  pleasures  expanding  with  the  sim 
plicity  of  his  wants ;  and  while  the  lovers  of  forbidden 
things  are  loathing  life  amid  a  surfeit  of  luxuries,  he 
discovers  with  the  light  of  every  new  morning,  some 
fresh  fountain  of  happiness  at  the  inner  shrine  of 
nature. 


II. 

JANUARY. 


POETS  in  all  ages  have  sung  of  the  delights  of  seed 
time  and  harvest,  and  of  the  voluptuous  pleasures  of 
summer ;  but  when  treating  of  winter,  they  have  con 
fined  their  descriptions  to  the  sports  of  the  season, 
rather  than  to  the  beauties  of  nature.  Winter  is  sup 
posed  to  furnish  but  few  enjoyments  to  be  compared 
with  those  of  summer;  because  the  majority  of  men, 
being  oppressed  by  too  many  burdens,  naturally  yearn 
for  a  life  of  indolence.  I  will  not  deny  that  the  pleas 
ures  derived  from  the  direct  influence  of  nature  are 
greatly  diminished  in  cold  weather;  there  are  not  so 
many  interesting  objects  to  amuse  the  mind,  as  in  the 
season  when  all  animated  things  are  awake,  and  the 
earth  is  covered  with  vegetation;  but  there  are  many 
pleasant  rural  excursions  and  invigorating  exercises, 
which  can  be  enjoyed  only  in  the  winter  season,  and 
for  which  thousands  of  our  undegenerate  yeomanry 
would  welcome  its  annual  visit. 

It  is  only  on  occasional  days  of  tempest  or  extreme 
cold,  which  form  but  a  small  portion  of  the  whole  sea 
son,  that  one,  who  has  a  moderate  share  of  health  and 
vigor,  is  necessarily  confined  within  doors.  The  pleas- 


JANUARY. 

ures  of  a  winter's  walk  are  chiefly  such  as  are  derived 
from  prospect.  A  landscape  painter  could  be  but  par 
tially  acquainted  with  the  sublimity  of  terrestial  scenery, 
if  he  had  never  looked  upon  the  earth  when  it  was 
covered  with  snow.  In  summer  the  prospect  unfolds 
such  an  infinite  array  of  beautiful  things  to  our  sight, 
that  the  sublimity  of  the  scene  is  hidden  beneath  a 
spectacle  of  dazzling  and  gorgeous  splendor.  We  are 
then  more  powerfully  attracted  by  objects  of  beauty 
that  charm  the  senses,  than  by  those  grander  aspects  of 
nature  that  awaken  the  emotion  of  sublimity.  In 
winter,  nature  is  divested  of  all  those  accompaniments 
of  her  scenery  which  are  not  in  unison  with  grandeur. 
At  this  period,  therefore,  the  mind  is  affected  with 
nobler  thoughts;  it  is  less  bewildered  by  a  multitude 
of  fascinating  objects,  and  is  more  free  to  indulge  itself 
in  a  train  of  profound  meditations.  In  summer  the 
lover  of  nature  is  intoxicated  with  beauty;  in  winter 
he  feels  a  freedom  of  thought  and  an  exhilaration  of 
soul,  which  can  be  fully  enjoyed  only  when  contemplat 
ing  the  grandeur  and  serenity  of  the  elements  in  their 
repose. 

The  exhilaration  of  mind  attending  a  winter  walk  in 
the  fields  and  woods,  when  the  earth  is  covered  with 
snow,  surpasses  any  emotion  of  the  kind  which  is  pro 
duced  by  the  appearance  of  nature  at  any  other  season. 
We  often  hear  jn  conversation  of  the  invigorating 
effects  of  cold  weather;  yet  those  few  only  who  are 
engaged  in  rural  occupations,  and  who  spend  the 
greater  part  of  the  day  in  the  open  air,  can  fully  realize 
the  amount  of  physical  enjoyment  that  springs  from  it. 
I  can  appreciate  the  languid  recreations  of  a  warm 
summer's  day.  When  one  is  at  leisure  in  the  country 
he  cannot  fail  to  enjoy  it,  if  he  can  take  shelter  under 


10  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

the  canopy  of  trees,  or  in  the  deeper  shade  of  the  forest. 
But  these  languid  enjoyments  would  soon  become  op 
pressive  and  monotonous ;  and  the  constant  participa 
tion  of  them  must  cause  one  gradually  to  'degenerate 
into  a  mere  animal.  The  human  mind  is  constituted 
to  feel  positive  pleasure  only  in  action.  Sleep  and  rest 
are  mere  negative  conditions,  to  which  we  submit  with 
a  grateful  sense  of  their  power  to  fit  us  for  the  renewed 
exercise  of  the  mind  and  the  body.  The  pleasures  of 
the  inhabitant  of  southern  climes  compared  with  those 
of  the  northern  man,  differ  as  the  pleasures  of  repose 
differ  from  those  of  action ;  and  although  almost  every 
man  feels  a  sense  of  regret,  when  he  perceives  the  ap 
proach  of  winter,  I  believe,  that  to  the  healthy  and  the 
hardy,  this  season  is  nearly  as  welcome  as  summer. 

One  of  the  noted  peculiarities  of  this  month  when 
our  fathers  were  living,  was  the  great  thaw.  In  ancient 
days,  when  the  winter  regularly  commenced  with 
December  and  ended  with  February,  this  annual  thaw 
seldom  failed  to  visit  our  climate  in  the  month  of 
January.  Since  the  clearing  of  the  forests,  the  charac 
ter  of  the  seasons  is  greatly  altered.  The  mean  annual 
temperature  remains  the  same ;  but  winter  has  en 
croached  upon  the  green  boundaries  of  spring,  and 
often  ventures  to  sprinkle  his  frosts  upon  the  flowery 
landscape  of  June.  He  has  usurped  dominion  over 
about  five  months  of  the  year,  during  which  the  cold, 
lasting  but  a  few  days  at  a  time,  is  constantly  alternat 
ing  with  longer  spells  of  mild  and  thawing  weather. 
Hence  there  is  no  month  of  winter  when  we  may  not 
be  visited  by  a  thaw ;  and  the  ices  of  December  may 
be  broken  up  at  Christmas,  not  to  be  renewed  until 
March. 

In  our  latitude  at  the  present  time,  January  is  usually 


JANUARY.  11 

the  month  of  the  greatest  cold ;  anp!  in  severe  weather 
there  is  a  general  stillness  that  is  favorable  to  musing. 
The  little  streamlets  are  frozen  and  silent,  and  there  is 
hardly  any  motion  except  of  the  winds,  and  of  the 
trees  that  bend  to  fheir  force.  Bat  the  works  of  na 
ture  are  still  carried  on  beneath  the  frost  and  snow. 
Though  the  flowers  are  buried  in  their  hyemal  sleep, 
thousands  of  unseen  elements  are  present,  all  waiting 
to  prepare  their  hues  and  fragrance,  when  the  spring 
returns  and  wakes  the  flowers,  and  calls  the  bees  out 
from  their  hives.  Nature  is  always  active  in  her  opera 
tions;  and  during  winter  are  the  embryos  nursed  of 
myriad  hosts,  that  will  soon  spread  beauty  over  the 
plains,  and  give  animation  to  the  field  and  forest. 

Since  the  beauties  of  summer  and  autumn  have 
faded,  nature  has  bestowed  on  earth  and  man  a  lovely 
recompense,  and  spread  the  prospect  with  new  scenes 
of  beauty  and  sublimity.  The  frozen  branches  of  the 
trees  are  clattering  in  the  wind,  and  the  reed  stands 
nodding  above  the  ice  and  shivers  in  the  rustling  breeze. 
But  while  these  things  remind  us  of  the  chills  of  win 
ter,  the  universal  prospect  of  snow  sends  into  the  soul 
the  light  of  its  own  perfect  purity  and  splendor,  and 
makes  the  landscape  still  beautiful  in  its  desolation. 
Though  we  look  in  vain  for  a  green  herb,  save  where 
the  ferns  and  mosses  conceal  themselves  in  little  dingles 
among  the  rocks,  yet  the  general  face  of  the  earth  is 
unsurpassed  in  brilliancy.  Morning,  noon,  and  night 
exhibit  glories  unknown  to  any  other  season ;  and  the 
moon  is  more  lovely  when  she  looks  down  from  her 
starry  throne,  and  over  field,  lake,  mountain,  and  valley, 
emblems  the  tranquillity  of  heaven. 

It  is  pleasing  to  watch  the  progress  and  movements 
of  a  snow-storm,  while!  the  flakes  are  thickly  falling 


12  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

from  the  skies,  and  the  drifts  are  rapidly  accumulating 
along  the  sides  of  the  fences,  and  in  the  lanes  and  hol 
lows.  The  peculiar  motion  of  the  winds,  while  eddy 
ing  and  whirling  over  the  varied  surface  of  the  ground, 
is  rendered  more  apparent  than  by  any  other  phenome 
non.  Every  curve  and  every  irregular  twisting  of  the 
wind  is. made  palpable,  to  a  degree  that  is  never  wit 
nessed  in  the  whirling  leaves  of  autumn,  in  the  sand 
of  the  desert,  or  in  the  dashing  spray  of  the  ocean. 
The  appearance  is  less  exciting,  when  the  snow  de 
scends  through  a  perfectly  still  atmosphere ;  but  after 
its  cessation,  we  may  witness,  a  spectacle  of  singular 
beauty.  There  has  been  no  wind  to  disturb  the  snow- 
flakes  as  they  were  deposited  on  the  branches  of  the 
trees,  to  which  they  adhere,  and  hang  from  them  like 
a  drapery  of  muslin.  Then  do  we"  see  throughout  the 
woods  the  mimic  splendor  of  June ;  and  the  plumage 
of  snow  that  hangs  from  the  branches,  revives  in  fancy's 
eye  the  white  clustering  blossoms  of  the  orchards  in 
early  summer. 

Sometimes  when  the  woods  are  fully  wreathed  in 
snow-flakes,  and  the  earth  is  clothed  in  an  interminable 
robe  of  ermine,  the  full  moon  rises  upon  the  landscape, 
and  illuminesvthe  whole  scene  with-  a  kind  of  unearthly 
splendor.  If  we  wake  out  of  sleep  into  a  sudden  view 
of  this  enchanted  scene,  though  the  mind  be  depressed 
with  sorrow,  it  is  impossible,  without  rapture,  to  con 
template  the  glorious  prospect.  The  unblemished 
purity  of  the  snow  picture,  before  the  senses  are 
awakened  to  a  full  and  realizing  consciousness  of  our 
situation,  glows  upon  the  vision,  like  a  scene  from  that 
fairy  world  which  has  often  gleamed  upon  the  soul 
during  its  youthful  season  of  romance  and  poetry. 
And  when  the  early  rays  of  morning  penetrate  these 


JANUARY.  13 

feathery  branches,  and  spread  over  the  white  and  spot 
less  hills  of  snow  a  rosy  tinge,  like  the  hues  that  burnish 
the  clouds  at  sunset,  and  kindle  amid  the  glittering 
fleece,  that  is  wreathed  around  the  branches,  all  the 
changeable  colors  of  the  rainbow ;  we  are  compelled  to 
exclaim  that  the  summer  landscape  with  all  its  verdure 
and  flowery  magnificence,  was  never  more  lovely  than 
this  transitory  scene  of  beauty.  Yet  the  brilliancy  of 
this  spectacle,  like  the  rainbow  in  heaven,  passes  away 
almost  while  we  are  gazing  on  its  fantastic  splendor. 
A  brisk  current  of  wind  scatters  from  the  branches,  like 
the  fading  leaves  of  autumn,  all  the  false  honors  that 
have  garlanded  the  forests,  and  in  an  hour  they  have 
disappeared  for  ever. 

Though  we  are  apt  to  look  upon  snow  as  the  mere 
rude  and  dreary  accompaniment  of  winter,  it  not  only 
constitutes  one  of  the  principal  charms  of  the  land 
scape  at  this  season,  but  it  is  also  one  of  those  peculiar 
provisions  of  nature,  in  which  she  has  concealed  her 
benevolence.  While  it  affords  protection  to  plants  and 
animals,  and  to  the  embryos  of  insects  now  buried 
under  the  surface  of  the  soil,  it  supplies  in  a  measure 
by  its  whiteness,  that  deficiency  of  light  which,  during 
the  winter  solstice,  is  so  painfully  felt.  If  it  were  black, 
it  would  be  melted  by  the  first  rays  of  the  sun  that 
shine  upon  it,  and  frozen  in  his  absence  into  solid 
masses  of  ice,  which  would  be  greatly  injurious  to 
herbs  and  shrubs.  Hence,  while  the  snow  protects 
animal  and1  vegetable  life,  that  exists  in  a  hybernating 
state  in  the  bosom  of  the  soil,  and  prevents  the  super 
ficial  heat  of  the  earth  from  being  radiated  into  the 
atmosphere,  the  whiteness  of  the  snow  preserves 
the  snow  itself,  until  the  warmth)  of  a,  new  season  is 

a 


14  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

sufficient  to  give  life  to  the  objects  that  slumber  be 
neath. 

Besides  the  pleasing  objects  already  described  as  pe 
culiar  to  the  season,  there  are  many  beautiful  appear 
ances  formed  by  the  freezing  of  waters  and  the  crystal 
lization  of  vapors,  which  one  can  never  cease  to 
examine  with  delight.  One  of  the  most  brilliant 
spectacles  of  this  kind  is  exhibited  on  a  frosty  morn 
ing,  after  the  prevalence  of  a  damp  sea-breeze.  The 
crystals,  almost  imperceptibly  minute,  are  distributed 
like  the  delicate  filaments  of  the  microscopic  mosses, 
over  the  withered  herbs  and  leafless  shrubbery,  creating 
a  sort  of  mimic  vegetation .  in  the  late  abodes  of  the 
flowers.  Vast  sheets  of  thin  ice  overspread  the  plains, 
beneath  which  the  water  has  sunk  into  the  earth,  leav 
ing  the  vacant  spots  of  a  pure  whiteness,  and  forming 
hundreds  of  little  fairy  circles,  of  a  peculiarly  fantastic 
appearance.  The  ferns  and  sedges  that  lift  up  their 
bended  blades  and  feathers  through  the  plates  of  ice, 
coated  with  millions  of  crystals,  resemble,  while  spark 
ling  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  the  finest  jewelry.  After 
a  damp  and  frosty  night,  these  appearances  are  singu 
larly  beautiful,  and  all  the  branches  of  the  trees  glitter 
with  them,  as  if  surrounded  with  a  network  of  dia 
monds. 

These  exhibitions  of  frostwork  are  still  more  magnifi 
cent  at  waterfalls,  where  a  constant  vapor  arises  with 
the  spray,  and  deposits  upon  the  icicles  that  hang  from 
the  projecting  rocks,  a  plumage  resembling  the  finest 
ermine.  Some  of  the  icicles,  by  a  constant  accumula 
tion  of  water,  which  is  always  dripping  from  the  crags, 
have  attained  the  size  of  pillars,  that  seem  almost  to 
support  the  shelving  rocks  from  which  they  are  sus- 


JANUARY.  15 

pended.  The  foam  of  the  water  has  been  frozen  into 
large  white  masses,  like  a  snow  bank  in  appearance, 
but  as  solid  as  ice.  The  shrubs,  that  project  from  the 
crevices  of  the  rocks,  are  clao\  in  a  full  armor  of  varie 
gated  icicles ;  and  when  the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun 
penetrate  into  these  recesses,  they  illuminate  them  with 
a  dazzling  and  unearthly  splendor ;  and  it  seems  as  if 
the  nymphs,  that  sit  by  these  fountains,  had  decorated 
them  as  the  portals  to  that  inner  temple  of  nature, 
whence  are  the  issues  of  all  that  is  lovely  and  beautiful 
on  earth. 

Thus,  when  all  the  delightful  objects  of  summer  have 
perished,  endless  sources  of  amusement  and  delight  are 
still  provided  for  the  mind  and  the  senses.  Though  the 
singing-bird  has  fled  from  the  orchard,  and  the  rustling 
of  green  leaves  is  heard  no  longer  in  the  haunts  of  the 
little  mountain  streams,  there  are  still  many  things  to 
attract  attention,  by  their  beauty  or  their  sublimity. 
Whether  we  view  the  frosts  that  decorate  the  herbage 
in  the  morning,  or  the  widespread  loveliness  of  the  snow 
on  a  moonlight  evening,  the  sublimity  of  heaven  seems 
to  rest  upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  we  behold  with 
rapt  emotions  every  terrestial  scene.  The  universe,  full 
of  these  harmonies,  yields  never-ending  themes  for 
study  and  meditation,  to  absorb  and  delight  the  mind 
that  is  ever  searching  after  knowledge,  and  to  raise  the 
soul  above  the  clods  of  the  valley,  to  that  invisible 
power  that  dwells  throughout  all  space. 

1  never  listen  to  the  shrill  voice  of  the  woodpecker, 
within  the  deep  shelters  of  the  forest,  or  to  the  lively 
notes  of  the  chickadee,  which  alternate  with  the  sound 
of  winds  among  the  dry  rustling  leaves,  without  feeling 
a  sudden  and  delightful  transport.  I  cannot  help  in 
dulging  the  fancy,  that  nature  has  purposely  endowed 


16        STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD  AND  FOREST. 

these  active  birds  with  a  hardihood  almost  miraculous, 
to  endure  the  severity  of  winter,  that  they  might  al 
ways  remain  to  cheer  the  loneliness  of  these  wintry 
solitudes.  For  no  clime,  or  season  has  nature  omitted 
to  provide  blessings  for  those  who  are  willing  to  receive 
them,  and  in  winter  wheresoever  we  turn,  we  find  a 
thousand  pleasant  recompenses  for  our  privations.  The 
Naiad  still  sits  by  her  fountain,  at  the  foot  of  the  val 
ley,  distributing  her  favors  to  the  husbandman  and  his 
flocks;  and  the  echoes  still  repeat  their  voices  from  the 
summits  of  the  hills,  and  send  them  over  the  plains, 
with  multiplied  reverberations,  to  cheer  the  hearts  of  all 
living  creatures. 


IIL 

A  COLD    DAY. 


ALL  night  have  we  been  listening  to  the  fresh  blowing 
of  the  winds,  and  dreading  an  encounter  with  the  cold 
that  was  to  await  us  in  the  morning.  Day  has  dawned, 
and  the  sky  and  atmosphere  are  as  clear  as  the  ethereal 
space  between  the  heavens  and  the  earth.  The  sun's 
broad  disk  is  already  above  the  horizon;  but  his  rays 
dimly  penetrate  through  the  window  .panes,  almost 
opaque  with  a  thick  coating  of  frost.  As  they  struggle 
through  this  frostwork,  thousands  of  beautiful  con 
figurations  are  cast  upon  the  opposite  ceiling,  which  are 
in  a  constant  wavering  motion.  The  sunbeams,  as 
bright  as  a  perfectly  pellucid  atmosphere  can  make 
them,  are  rendered  powerless  by  the  cold  winds  that 
bind  them  in  their  embraces. 

The  mercury  has  sunk  below  zero.  The  fire  that  is 
blazing  upon  the  hearth  sends  no  heat  into  the  room ; 
and  the  whole  family  gather  round  it  in  a  semicircle, 
scorching  themselves  in  a  vain  effort  to  obtain  warmth. 
We  go  to  our  tasks,  but  we  cannot  pursue  them.  A 
freezing  cold  settles  all  around  us,  and  drives  us  con 
stantly  to  the  fire.  The  needle  drops  from  the  hand  of 
the  seamstress,  and  the  penman  can  scarcely  make  his 
2* 


18  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

mark.  The  latches  of  the  doors  fasten  upon  the  hands, 
as  we  attempt  to  open  them.  Every  thing  we  take 
anto  our  hands  is  like  a  mass  of  indissoluble  ice.  The 
whole  business  of  the  day  is  to  keep  ourselves  from 
freezing.  There  is  no  ceremony  in  the  house;  all  the 
inmates  gather  round  the  fire,  and  talk  of  nothing  but 
the  weather. 

In  the  almost  deserted  streets  we  see  no  loitering  at 
^corners,  and  no  gathering  in  the  porches  of  the  public- 
ihouses.  Every  one  is  hurrying  onward,  with  face 
;averted  from  the  wind,  his  garments  muffled  closely 
around  him,  and  he  hardly  deigns  to  recognize  a  pass 
ing  acquaintance ;  or,  if  he  be  saluted,  to  make  him  a 
ireply,  in  his  haste  to  get  to  his  journey's  end.  All  are 
Tapidly  moving ;  even  the  most  indolent  seem  to  be 
.suddenly  capable  of  speed.  The  loaded  teams  that 
pass  along  the  streets,  are  creaking  like  a  band  of 
musical  instruments.  The  cattle  are  whitened  with 
frost,  and  long  beards  of  icicles  are  hanging  from  their 
•chins. 

The  earth  is  white  with  snow,  and  the  sun  casts  a 
ibright  but  ineffectual  beam  over  the  wide  glittering 
[plain.  Not  a  single  crystal  of  hoarfrost  melts  upon 
the  window-glass,  so  powerless  are  the  sun's  rays ;  but 
it  accumulates  all  the  day,  until  the  glass  has  lost  its 
transparency.  Long  icicles  have  made  their  appear 
ance  suddenly,  dependent  from  different  parts  of  the 
,roof.  All  the  eaves  of  the  houses  are  fringed  with 
ithese  icicles,  of  various  lengths,  glittering  like  so  many 
precious  jewels,  in  the  light  of  the  sun.  Smaller  ones 
are  hanging  from  the  branches  of  the  trees,  and  wide 
glistening  sheets  of  ice  have  incrusted  the  springy  sides 
of  the  hills. 

There  is  a  long  volume  of  fog  rolled  in  heaps  upon 


A   COLD   DAY.  19 

the  surface  of  the  bay,  that  seems  to  bound  the  horizon. 
Such  a  fog  always  denotes  an  intense  cold.  It  is 
formed  from  the  steam  that  may  be  seen  issuing  from 
the  brink  of  the  waters,  just  beyond  the  ice  that  girds 
the  shore.  Often  during  the  day,  a  sleety  snow, 
scarcely  visible,  on  account  of  the  minuteness  of  the 
crystals,  will  pour  down  from  the  skies,  making  the  cut 
ting  blast  still  more  severe,  as  it  beats  against  the  face 
and  eyes  of  the  traveller.  At  such  times,  it  may  be 
observed  that  the  sky  is  not  perfectly  transparent,  being 
dimmed  by  this  sleet,  which  resembles  a  thin  cloud  of 
dust  rather  than  of  vapor.  This  phenomenon  is  caused 
by  the  steam  which  has  risen  from  the  ocean,  in  an  in 
visible  form,  and  crystallized  as  it  ascended  into  the  at 
mosphere. 

On  this  day  many  a  little  bird  will  perish  in  the  forest, 
struck  by  a  shaft  from  the  inclement  skies;  and  the 
fishes  that  swim  in  the  shallow  waters  will  be  imbedded, 
like  petrifactions,  in  the  ice ;  for  all  the  little  rivulets  are- 
frozen,  and  their  gurgling  is  not  heard  beneath  the 
snows.  The  crows,  and  jays,  and  other  winter  birds 
are  almost  silent  in  the  woods,  and  the  bleating  of 
flocks  is  not  heard  upon  the  hills.  No  living  creature 
dares  come  forth  to  an  encounter  with  the  winds.  All 
nature  is  still,  save  the  fresh  biting  blast  that  is  sweep 
ing  over  the  earth,  and  striking  all  living  things  with 
the  stillness  and  coldness  of  death. 

The  poultry  in  the  yards  are  gathered  together  in 
sunny  corners,  or  under  the  shelter  of  a  fence,  apparently 
torpid.  Here  and  there  is  a  scattering  one,  moping 
around  the  door'  step,  with  its  feathers  frizzled,  and  its 
limbs  almost  too  benumbed  to  support  its  weight. 
When  the  door  is  opened,  they  suddenly  arouse  from 
their  torpidity,  and  then  sink  back  again  to  their  retreat. 


20  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

The  only  comfort  among  the  brute  creation  is  enjoyed 
by  the  cattle  within  the  barns,  and  the  sheep  within 
their  fold. 

The  sun  is  drawing  near  his  decline,  but  no  beautiful 
colors  surround  his  setting.  The  sky  is  perfectly  blue 
over  our  heads,  and  a  grayish  circle  binds  the  horizon, 
illuminated  with  a  kind  of  yellow  light,  save  in  the 
close  vicinity  of  the  bay,  where  the  rising  vapor  has 
formed  a  girdle  of  purple  haze  dimly  fringed  with  the 
hues  of  the  rainbow.  No  clouds  are  in  the  atmosphere, 
for  its  intense  coldness  precipitates  the  vapor  into  crys 
tals,  that  fall  to  the  earth  ere  it  has  arrived  at  any  con 
siderable  height.  Every  thing  is  still,  save  the  winds 
that  whistle  through  the  doors  and  crevices,  and  clatter 
among  the  stiff  and  frozen  branches  of  the  trees. 

It  is  evening.  The  doors  and  windows  are  tightly 
closed ;  the  hearths  of  the  dwelling-houses  are  heaped 
with  fuel,  and  all  the  villagers  are  assembled  around 
their  firesides.  The  windows,  at  this  time,  exhibit  a 
magnificent  appearance  as  we  pass  them  on  the  outside, 
while  the  lamps  are  glittering  from  within,  through  their 
myriad  configurations  of  frost.  The  window  panes  re 
semble  so  many  pictured  glasses ;  and  while  the  forms 
of  objects  within  cannot  be  seen,  the  lamps  twinkle 
through  the  frostwork,  and  cast  upon  the  traveller  a 
beautiful  and  variegated  light. 


IV. 

SOUNDS   FROM   INANIMATE   NATURE. 


NATURE  in  every  scene  and  situation  has  established 
certain  sounds  which  are  indicative  of  its  character. 
The  sounds  we  hear  in  the  hollow  dells  among  the 
mountains  are  unlike  those  of  the  open  plains ;  and  the 
echoes  of  the  sea-shore  repeat  sounds  that  are  never  re 
verberated  among  the  inland  valleys.  There  are  many 
species  of  singing  birds  within  the  solitudes  of  a  forest, 
which  are  seldom  heard  or  seen  in  our  orchards  or  gar 
dens.  In  the  mind  of  one  who  has  been  early  accus 
tomed  to  the  wild  woods,  the  warbling  of  these  solitary 
birds  is  pleasantly  connected  with  their  stillness  and 
their  grandeur.  Besides  the  singing  of  birds  and  the 
chirping  of  insects,  there  are  voices  from  inanimate 
nature,  which  are  full  of  pleasing  suggestions.  The 
murmuring  of  winds  and  the  rustling  of  foliage,  the 
gurgling  of  streams  and  the  bubbling  of  fountains,  come 
to  our  ears  like  the  music  of  our  early  days,  accom 
panied  by  many  agreeable  fancies.  A  stream  rolling 
over  a  rough  declivity,  a  fountain  bubbling  up  from  a 
subterranean  hollow,  produce  sounds  suggestive  of  fra 
grant  summer  arbors,  of  cool  retreats,  and  all  their  de 
lightful  accompaniments. 


22        STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD  AND  FOREST. 

The  roar  of  a  waterfall,  when  constantly  near  us,  is 
disagreeable ;  but  the  purling  of  a  rill,  if  not  music,  is 
something  very  nearly  allied  to  it.  The  most  agreeable 
expression  of  the .  noise  of  waters  is  their  animation. 
They  give  life  to  the  scenes  around  us,  like  the  voices 
of  birds  and  insects.  In  winter,  especially,  they  make 
an  agreeable  interruption  of  the  stillness ;  and  remind 
us,  that  during  the  slumber  of  all  visible  things,  some 
hidden  powers  are  still  guiding  the  operations  of  nature. 
The  rapids  produced  by  a  small  stream  flowing  over  a 
gentle  declivity  of  rocks  yield,  perhaps,  the  most  expres 
sive  sound  of  waters,  unless  we  except  the  distant  roar 
of  waves,  as  they  are  dashed  upon  the  shore  of  the  sea. 
The  last,  being  intermittent,  is  preferable  to  the  roar  of 
a  waterfall,  which  is  tiresomely  incessant.  Nearly  all 
the  sounds  made  by  water  are  agreeable,  and  cannot  be 
multiplied  without  increasing  the  delightful  influences 
of  the  place  and  the  season. 

Besides  the  pleasant  sounds  that  come  from  water,  in 
all  its  variety  of  shapes  and  movements,  we  must  not 
omit  to  mention  those  which  are  produced  by  winds,  as 
they  pass  through  the  branches  and  foliage  of  trees  and 
shrubbery.  The  colors  of  their  leaves,  and  the  glitter 
ing  light  from  their  more  or  less  refractive  surfaces,  do 
not  differ  more  than  the  modifications  of  sound  pro 
duced  from  them  by  the  passing  breezes.  Every  tree 
may  be  said,  when  agitated  by  the  winds,  to  have  a 
voice  peculiar  to  itself,  and  capable  of  exciting  the  most 
agreeable  sensations.  The  lofty  branches  of  pines, 
when  swayed  by  the  wind,  emit  a  sound  like  the 
murmuring  of  distant  waters,  and  inspire  a  soothing 
melancholy  like  that  inspired  by  the  continual  twilight 
that  reigns  within  their  solitudes.  The  leaves  of  the 
poplar,  proverbial  for  their  tremulous  motion,  produce  a 


SOUNDS   FROM   INANIMATE   NATURE.  23 

more  cheerful  sound,  corresponding  with  the  gayety  of 
summer,  and  harmonizing  with  the  more  lively  scenes 
around  them.  Every  tree  and  shrub  is  a  delicate 
musical  -instrument,  whose  notes  remind  us  of  the  char 
acter  of  their  foliage,  and  of  the  season  of  the  year,  — 
from  the  mellow  harmony  of  the  willow  trees  in  sum 
mer,  to  the  sharp  rustling  of  the  dry  oak  leaf  that  tells 
us  of  the  arrival  of  winter. 

Each  season  of  the  year  has  its  peculiar  melodies, 
besides  those  proceeding  from  the  animated  creation. 
In  the  opening  of  the  year,  when  the  leaves  are  tender 
and  pliable,  there  is  a  mellowness  in  the  sound  of  the 
breezes,  as  if  they  felt  the  voluptuous  influence  of  spring. 
Nature  then  softens  all  the  sounds  from  inanimate 
things,  as  if  to  avoid  making  any  harsh  discords  with 
the  anthem  that  issues  from  the  streams  and  wood 
lands,  vocal  with  the  songs  of  millions  of  happy  crea 
tures.  The  echoes  also  repeat  less  distinctly  the  multi 
tudinous  notes  of  birds,  insects,  and  other  creeping 
things.  To  the  echoes,  spring  and  summer  are  seasons 
of  comparative  rest,  save  those  which  reside  among 
the  rocks  of  the  desert,  or  among  the  dells  of  the  craggy 
sea-shore.  Here,  sitting  invisibly  in  their  retreats,  are 
they  ever  responding  to  those  sorrowful  sounds  that  are 
borne  upon  the  waves,  as  they  sullenly  recount  the  perils 
and  accidents  of  the  great  deep. 

After  the  severe  frosts  of  autumn,  the  winds  become 
shriller,  as  they  pass  over  the  naked  reeds  and  rushes, 
and  through  the  leafless  branches  of  the  trees,  and  there 
is  a  familiar  sadness  in  their  murmurs,  as  they  whirl 
among  the  dry  rustling  leaves.  When  winter  has 
arrived  and  enshrouded  all  the  landscape  in  a  winding- 
sheet  of  snow,  the  echoes  once  more  venture  out  upon 
the  open  plain,  and  repeat,  with  unusual  distinctness, 


24  STUDIES   IN  THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

the  miscellaneous  sounds  from  wood,  village,  and  farm. 
During  winter  they  enjoy  a  long  holiday  of  freedom, 
and  show  no  sympathy  with  the  desolate  appearance  of 
nature..  They  hold  a  laughing  revelry  in  the  haunts  of 
the  Dryad,*  who  sits  sad  and  disconsolate  in  her  now 
unsheltered  retreats,  where  the  leafless  boughs  scarcely 
protect  her  from  the  shivering  wind,  or  shade  her  from 
the  cold  icy  beams  of  the  moon. 

At  this  time  our  ears  are  greeted  by  the  sound  of  the 
woodman's  axe,  that  comes  with  multiplied  reverbera 
tions  through  the  solitude  of  the  forest.  Though  one 
of  the  most  cheerful  of  all  sounds,  so  far  as  it  reminds 
us  of  the  presence  of  human  beings  in  these  solitary 
places,  yet  it  is  sadly  suggestive  of  the  fall  of  venerable 
woods,  and  of  those  changes  in  the  face  of  nature  which 
we  cannot  witness  without  regret.  With  a  more  un 
mixed  cheerfulness  do  we  listen  to  the  hammering  of 
the  woodpecker  upon  some  hollow  tree  in  the  wood, 
and  to  the  creaking  of  the  dry  branches  which  are  partly 
severed  from  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  as  they  swing  to  and 
fro  in  the  wind. 

But  when  the  sun  gains  a  few  more  degrees  in  his 
meridian  height,  and  the  snow  .begins  to  disappear 
under  the  fervor  of  his  beams,  then  do  the  sounds  from 
the  dropping  eaves,  and  the  clash  of  falling  icicles  from 
the  boughs  of  the  orchard  trees,  afford  a  pleasant  sensa 
tion  of  the  grateful  change  which  has  already  com 
menced ;  and  the  utterance  of  these  vernal  promises 
suddenly  awakens  all  the  delightful  anticipation  of  birds 
and  flowers.  The  moaning  of  the  winds  has  been 
plainly  softened  by  the  changes  of  the  season,  and  the 

•  *  The  Dryad,  in  modern  mythology,  is  the  fanciful  impersonation 
of  all  animal  life  in  the  woods. 


SOUNDS   FROM   INANIMATE   NATURE.  25 

summer  zephyrs  that  occasionally  pay  us  a  short  visit 
from  the  south,  and  signalize  their  coming  by  the  crim 
soned  dews  at  sunrise,  let  loose  a  thousand  rills  that 
make  a  lively  babbling  music,  as  they  leap  down  the 
hill-side  into  the  valleys.  Yet  of  all  these  sounds  from 
inanimate  nature,  there  is  not  one  but  is  hallowed  by 
some  glad  or  tender  sentiment  of  which  it  is  suggestive  ; 
and  we  have  but  to  yield  our  hearts  to  their  influences 
to  feel  that  for  the  ear  as  well  as  for  the  eye,  nature  has 
provided  an  endless  store  of  pleasures. 

I  believe  that  the  majority  of  agreeable  sounds  from 
the  inanimate  world  owe  their  charm  to  their  power  of 
gently  exciting  the  emotion  of  melancholy.  Our  minds 
are  constructed  with  such  a  benevolent  regard  to  our 
happiness,  that  all  the  feelings  of  the  heart,  including 
even  those  of  a  painful  sort,  are  capable,  under  certain 
states  or  degrees  of  excitement,  of  becoming  a  source 
of  agreeable  sensations.  Such  is  the  memory  of-  past 
pleasures,  that  brings  with  it  a  species  of  melancholy 
which  is  a  luxury  to  all  persons,  of  refined-  sensibility. 
The  murmur  of  gentle  gales  among  the  trembling  aspen 
leaves,  or  the  noise  of  the  hurricane  upon  the  sea-shore, 
the  roar  of  distant  waters,  the  sighing  of  the  wind  as  it 
flits  by  our  windows  or  moans  through  the  casement, 
have  the  power  of  exciting  just  enough  of  this  senti 
ment  to  produce  an  agreeable  state  of  the  mind. 
Along  with  the  melancholy  they  excite,  there  is  some 
thing  that  tranquillizes  the  soul  and  exalts  it  above  the 
mere  pleasures  of  sense. 

It  is  this  power  of  producing  the  sentiment  of  melan 
choly  that  causes  the  sound  of  rain  to  yield  pleasure  to 
the  majority  of  minds.  The  pattering  of  rain  upon  the 
windows,  but  more  particularly  on  the  roof  of  a  house 
under  which  we  are  sitting,  is  attended  with  a  singular 
3 


26  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

charm.  The  more  violent  the  rain,  if  its  violence  be 
not  sufficient  to  cause  alarm,  the  more  profound  is  the 
emotion  that  springs  from  it.  There  are  few  persons 
who  do  not  recollect,  with  a  most  agreeable  sense  of 
past  delight,  some  adventure  of  a  shower  that  obliged 
them,  on  a  journey,  to  take  shelter  under  a  rustic  roof 
by  the  way-side.  The  pleasure  produced  by  the  sight 
and  sound  of  the  rain,  under  this  retreat,  often  comes 
more  delightfully  to  our  remembrance  than  all  the  sun 
shiny  adventures  of  the  day.  But  in  order  to  be 
affected  in  the  most  agreeable  manner  by  the  sound  of 
rain,  it  is  necessary  to  be  in  the  company  of  those  whom 
we  love,  and  to  know  at  the  same  time  that  the  objects 
of  our  care  are  within  doors,  and  to  be  ignorant  of  any 
one's  exposure  to  its  violence.  From  this  consciousness 
of  security  comes  perhaps  half  the  pleasure  awakened 
by  the  sound  of  rain ;  but  this  I  am  confident  would 
not  account  for  the  whole  effect. 

The  question  has  often  been  argued,  why  we  delight 
in  witnessing  from  a  place  of  security,  a  ship  buffeting 
the  waves  in  a  storm.  This  pleasure  can  arise  only 
from  the  excitement  of  hoping  for  the  final  deliverance 
of  the  vessel  and  her  crew,  and  of  watching  the  progress 
of  the  sufferers  while  they  are  striving  to  reach  the 
harbor.  It  does  not  arise  from  contrasting  our  own 
safety  with  the  dangers  to  which  they  are  exposed. 
On  the  contrary,  should  we  behold  a  certain  prospect 
of  their  destruction,  we  should  no  longer  take  any 
pleasure  in  the  sight.  But  the  view  of  a  storm  is  pleas 
ing,  when  we  are  ourselves,  and  believe  others  to  be,  in  a 
place  of  safety.  Then  do  we  listen  with  intense  de 
light  to  the  voice  of  winds  and  waters  as  they  contend 
with  the  demon  of  tfae  storm,  and  the  awful  warring 
of  the  elements  excites  the  most  sublime  sensations, 


SOUNDS  FROM  INANIMATE  NATURE.         27 

unalloyed  with  any  painful  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  a 
fellow-being. 

During  a  thunderstorm,  the  thunder  is  in  most  cases 
too  terrific  to  allow  one  to  feel  a  tranquil  enjoyment  of 
the  occasion.  Perhaps  there  is  no  sound  in  the  world 
which  is  so  pleasantly  modified  by  distance.  Some 
minutes  before  the  commencement  of  a  thunderstorm, 
there  is  a  perfect  stillness  of  the  atmosphere  which  is 
fearfully  ominous  of  the  approaching  tempest.  It  fol 
lows  the  first  enshrouding  of  daylight  in  the  clouds 
which  are  gathering  slowly  over  our  heads,  as  they 
come  up  from  the  western  horizon.  It  is  at  such  a 
time  that  the  sullen  moan  of  the  thunder,  far  down,  as 
it  were,  below  the  belt  of  the  hemisphere,  is  peculiarly 
solemn  and  impressive,  and  more  productive  of  the 
emotion  of  sublimity  than  when  its  crash  is  heard  di 
rectly  over  our  heads. 

Thunder  is  evidently  heard  with  different  emotions, 
when  it  proceeds  from  the  clouds  which  are  rising 
towards  us,  and  when  it  proceeds  from  those  which 
have  already  settled  down  in  the  east,  after  the  storm 
has  passed  away.  The  consciousness  that  the  one  in 
dicates  a  rising  storm  renders  it  strongly  suggestive  of 
the  perils  we  are  soon  to  encounter,  and  adds  intensity 
to  the  feelings  with  which  we  contemplate  it.  When 
we  are  in  the  midst  of  a  violent  thunderstorm,  we  feel 
the  emotion  of  fear  rather  than  that  of  sublimity. 
An  uncomfortable  amount  of  anxiety  destroys  that 
tranquillity  of  mind  which  .is  necessary  for  the  full  en 
joyment  of  the  sublime  as  well  as  the  beautiful  scenes 
of  nature. 

But  it  is  pleasant  after  the  terrors  of  the  storm  have 
ceased,  when  the  blue  sky  in  the  west  begins  to  peer  in 
dim  streaks,  through  the  misty  and  luminous  atmos- 


28  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

phere,  to  watch  the  lightnings  from  the  window,  as  they 
play  down  the  dark  clouds  in  the  eastern  horizon,  and 
to  listen  to  the  rumblings  of  the  thunder  as  it.  com 
mences  loudly  over  our  head,  and  dies  away  almost  like 
the  roaring  of  waves  in  a  distant  part  of  the  heavens. 
Then  do  we  contemplate  the  spectacle  with  a  grateful 
feeling  of  relief  from  the  fears  that  lately  agitated  the 
mind,  and  surrender  our  souls  to  all  the  influences 
naturally  awakened  by  a  mingled  scene  of  beauty  and 
grandeur. 

The  emotion  of  sublimity  is  more  powerfully  excited 
by  any  circumstance  that  adds  mystery  to  the  scene,  or 
the  sounds  we  may  be  contemplating.  For  this  reason 
any  sound  which  resembles  that  of  an  earthquake  im 
presses  the  mind  at  once  with  a  feeling  of  awe,  however 
insignificant  its  origin.  The  wailing  of  winds  through 
the  crevices  of  the  doors  and  windows  owes  its  effect,  in 
a  great  measure,  to  this  principle  of  mystery,  and, 
especially  to  the  young  or  the  superstitious,  often  be 
comes  a  source  of  sublimity.  Hence  the  power  of  the 
dusky  shapes  of  twilight  to  produce  terror,  and  hence 
the  booming  of  a  cannon  over  a  distance  that  renders 
its  identity  uncertain,  and  prolongs  the  sound  by  hol 
low  reverberations,  causes  in  the  hearers  a  breathless 
attention,  as  to  something  ominous  of  danger.  We 
may  thus  explain  why  all  sounds  are  so  suggestive  in 
the  stillness  of  the  night :  the  rustling  of  a  zephyr  as  it 
glides  half  noiselessly  through  the  foliage  of  the  trees ; 
a  few  scarce  but  heavy  drops  of  rain  from  a  passing 
cloud,  that  give  the  signal  of  an  approaching  shower ; 
the  footfall  of  a  solitary  passenger  in  the  street;  the 
tinkling  of  a  cow  bell,  heard  occasionally  as  the  crea 
ture  changes  her  position  under  a  tree  in  a  neighboring 
field ;  —  all  these  sounds  are  dependent  on  the  stillness 


.  SOUNDS    FROM    INANIMATE  'NATUHE.  29 

and  darkness  of  the  night  for  their  peculiar  influence  on 
the  mind. 

It  is  evident  that  the  charm  of  all  these  sounds  pro 
ceeds  from  the  imagination.  A  person  .who  has  not 
cultivated  this  faculty  is  dead  to  a  thousand  pleasures 
from  this  source,  that  form  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
happiness  of  the  man  of  superior  intellect.  Music  has 
no  advantage  over  other  sounds,  except  in  its  greater 
power  to  act  upon  the  imagination.  To  appreciate  the 
charm  of  musical  notes,  or  to  perceive  the  beauty  of  an 
elegant  building  or  of  splendid  tapestry,  requires  but 
little  mental  culture.  But  to  be  susceptible  of  pleasure 
from  what  are  commonly  regarded  as  indifferent  sounds, 
or  indifferent  sights,  is  the  meed  of  those  who  have 
cherished  the  higher  faculties  and  the  better  feelings  of 
their  nature.  To  such  persons  the  world  is  full  of  sug 
gestive  sounds  as  well  as  of  suggestive  sights,  and  not 
the  whisper  of  a  breeze  or  the  murmur  of  a  wave  but 
is  in  unison  with  some  chord  in  their  memory  or  their 
imagination. 


V. 

FEBRUARY. 


I  AM  no  lover  of  cold  weather ;  and  feel  more  con 
tented,  when  the  sultry  heats  of  summer  oblige  me  to 
seek  the  refreshing  'Sea-breezes,  beneath  a  willow  tree 
on  the  margin  of  the  sea-shore,  than  when  the  cold 
blasts  of  winter  drive  me  into  the  house,  to  take  shelter 
by  the  fireside.  But  there  are  days  in  winter,  when  the 
wind  blows  gently  from  the  south-west,  which  are  at 
tended  with  pleasurable  feelings,  seldom  experienced  in 
the  most  delightful  summer  weather.  I  have  already 
spoken  of  the  sublimity  of  a  winter  prospect,  of  the 
charms  of  a  snowy  landscape,  by  sunlight  and  by  moon 
light,  and  of  other  natural  beauties,  which  are  produced 
by  frost  and  ice.  It  remains  to  speak  of  some  of  those 
phenomena,  which  are  conspicuous  during  warm  and 
sunny  days  in  winter,  when  the  weather  seems  to  be 
that  of  a  different  climate.  Whether  the  delightful  in 
fluence  of  these  halcyon  days  arises  from  a  physical 
cause,  or  whether  it  is  the  result  of  contrast  with  the 
cold,  that  has  so  long  kept  one  imprisoned,  I  cannot 
determine.  But  when  I  review  in  memory  the  rural 
rambles  of  former  years,  my  winter  walks  on  these 


FEBRUARY.  31 

delightful  days,  will  always  crowd  most  sweetly  and 
vividly  upon  my  recollection. 

After  a  long  confinement  within  doors,  our  feelings 
are  keenly  alive  to  agreeable  impressions  from  rural 
sights  and  sounds,  which  are  associated  with  the  pleas 
ures  of  the  past  summer.  Then  does  the  sight  of  a 
green  arbor  in  the  woods,  or  a  green  plat  in  the  valley, 
affect  one  as  I  can  imagine  the  weary  traveller  in  the 
desert  is  affected,  upon  meeting  an  oasis,  in  the  midst  of 
the  drifting  sands.  The  melancholy  that  attends  a  ram 
ble  in  the  autumn  has  passed  from  us,  and  we  now 
come  forth,  during  the  sleep  of  vegetation,  and  in  the 
general  hush  of  animated  things,  with  feelings  allied  to 
the  cheerfulness  that  inspires  the  mind,  when  the  little 
song-sparrow  pours  out  his  early  lays  of  gladness  .to  the 
first  bright  morning  in  spring.  Some  blessing  comes 
from  every  sacrifice,  and  some  recompense  for  every 
privation.  Thus  does  the  darkness  of  night  prepare  us 
to  welcome  with  gladness  the  dawn  of  a  new  morning. 
The  charm  of  life  proceeds  from  these  vicissitudes,  and 
we  are  capable  of  no  new  enjoyment  until  we  have 
rested  from  pleasure. 

I  have  often  taken  advantage  of  one  of  these  serene 
days  of  winter,  to  ramble  in  the  woods.  Every  sound  I 
hear  at  such  a  time  is  music,  though  it  be  but  the  cow 
bell's  chime,  the  stroke  of  the  woodman's  axe,  .or  the  crash 
of  some  tall  tree,  just  falling  to  the  ground.  Sometimes 
during  this  season  of  calm  sunshine,  the  little  squirrels 
will  come  forth  from  their  retreats ;  and  in  the  echoing 
silence  of  the  woods,  we  may  hear  their  rustling  leap 
among  the  dry  oak  leaves,  their  occasional  chirrup,  and 
the  dropping  of  nutshells  from  the  lofty  branches  of  the 
hickory.  There  is  music  in  all  the  echoes  that  break 
the  stillness -of  the  scenes  around;  in  the  cawing  of  the 


32  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

raven,  the  scream  of  the  jay,  or  the  quick  hammering  of 
the  woodpecker  upon  the  hollow  trUnk  of  some  ancient 
standard  of,  the  forest.  All  these  sounds  are  endued 
with  a  pleasing  cadence,  and  with  them  are  associated 
some  of  my  most  agreeable  recollections  of  nature. 

The  orchards  at  this  time  are  frequented  by  wood 
peckers  of  several  species,  so  interesting  on  account  of 
their  lively  motions,  their  brilliant  plumage,  distin- 
.guished  from  that  of  other  birds  by  its  contrasted  colors, 
and  on  account  of  their  curious  habit  of  winding  in 
and  out,  and  over  and  under  the  branches  of  trees. 
Sometimes  a  multitude  of  these  birds  will  assemble 
together,  in  company  with  the  little  chickadees,  and 
make  the  woods  resound  with  their  querulous  voices. 
Occasionally  we  arouse  a  bevy  of  whistling  quails, 
which  have  maintained  a  snug  silence  under  the  juni 
per  bushes,  whither  they  resort  for  their  fragrant  repast 
of  winter  berries,  and  while  sauntering  onward,  the 
whirring  partridge  startles  one  by  its  sudden  flight, 
directly  from  under  our  feet. 

The  mild  serenity  of  the  weather;  the  fresh  odors 
that  arise  from  thawing  vegetation ;  the  beautiful  haze 
that  surrounds  the  horizon,  reflecting  all  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow;  the  lively  chattering  of  poultry  in  the 
farm  yard ;  the  bleating  of  flocks  and  the  lowing  of 
kine ;  an  occasional  concert  of  crows  in  the  neighbor 
ing  wood  ;  the  checkered  landscape  of  snow-drifts,  ris 
ing  out  of  the  brown  earth,  and  gleaming  in  the  sun 
shine,  and  the  soft  white  light  that  glows  from  distant 
hills  and  spires;  —  all  these  rural  sights  and  sounds 
come  .upon  the  senses  with  a  ravishment  never  felt  in 
the  fairest  gardens  or  the  most  delightful  clime.  Now 
and  then  in  the  midst  of  this  harmonious  discord,  as  if 
to  remind  us  of  the  past  delights  of  summer,  a  solitary 


FEBRUAKY.  33 

song-sparrow,  that  still  lingers  about  his  former  haunts, 
will  open  his  little  throat,  and  sing  from  some  leafless 
thorn,  one  of  his  most  simple  and  enchanting  lays. 

But  in  winter,  we  are  seldom  favored  in  succession, 
with  many  of  these  delightful  days.  They  appear  just 
often  enough  to  save  us  from  an  utter  forgetfulness  of 
nature,  like  an  occasional  visit  from  an  absent  friend. 
At  such  times,  all  creatures  take  advantage  of  the  fine 
weather  to  forage  the  woods  and  pastures,  and  supply 
their  famishing  wants ;  and  one  of  the  pleasant  occu 
pations  of  our  leisure,  consists  in  tracing  to  their  haunts 
the  different  species  of  birds,  that  still  sojourn  with  us, 
like  friends  in  trouble  and  adversity.  These  harmless 
creatures  often  suffer  greatly  with  famine,  many  of 
them  dying  of  starvation  as  well  as  of  cold ;  and  it 
is  the  part  of  benevolence  to  feed  them,  and  look  out 
for  their  protection.  Quails  and  robins  remain  in  our 
woods  throughout  the  winter,  feeding  on  berries,  seeds, 
and  the  gleanings  of  corn  fields.  An  unusual  quantity 
of  snow  may  deprive  them  of  these  resources  ;  and 
man,  the  lord  of  creation,  should  prove  himself  wor 
thy  of  his  sovereignty,  by  protecting  these  innocent 
wanderers,  for  whom  nature,  under  all  circumstances, 
has  not  provided. 

Flocks  of  sparrows  and  snow-birds  are  often  seen 
hovering  around  our  dwellings,  and  by  their  cheerful 
twittering,  seem  to  be  asking  alms  of  the  inmates. 
They  may  be  seen  timidly  feeding  with  the  poultry,  or 
pecking  at  the  windowglass,  for  something  that  glis 
tens  on  the  inner  side  of  the  pane.  The  humane  and 
considerate  are  in  the  habit  of  strewing  seeds  and 
crumbs  of  bread  on  the  fences,  .and  in  the  footpaths, 
where  they  may  find  them  and  relieve  their  hunger. 
And  what  do  we  by  such  acts,  but  divide  with  others  a 


34  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

portion  of  that  bounty,  which  heaven  has  lent  us  only 
for  our  using,  and  which  can  never  prove  our  blessing, 
unless  we  make  a  kind  and  benevolent  disposal  of  it, 
to  those  who  are  in  suffering  and  want? 

I  must  not  omit  to  enumerate,  among  the  various 
attractions  of  winter,  the  frostwork  on  the  windows, 
the  apt  emblem  of  the  romantic  hopes  of  our  early 
youth.  All  vegetation  in  summer  presents  not  the  va 
riety  of  forms  which  we  may  behold  in  these  beautiful 
configurations  upon  the  windowglass.  The  mornings 
which  are  most  remarkable  for  this  curious  pencil  work 
of  nature,  are  such  as  follow  a  very  cold  and  still  night, 
after  mild  and  thawing  weather  on  the  preceding  day. 
When  a  boy,  I  used  to  delight  in  watching  these  frost- 
pictures,  ere  I  arose  in  the  morning,  and  felt  no  less 
pleasure  in  the  sight  than  I  have  since  found  in  the 
more  magnificent  scenes  of  nature.  Nothing  in  the 
world  seems  so  much  like  the  work  of  enchantment; 
and  it  is  not  surprising  that  people  of  all  ages  have 
imagined  that  the  elements  were  inhabited  by  spirits, 
whose  supernatural  skill  wxmld  account  for  those  num 
berless  beauties  which  attract  the  sight,  in  the  least,  as 
well  as  in  the  greatest  operations  of  the  invisible  artist. 

Another  remarkable  appearance  occasionally  observed 
in  the  woods  in  winter,  is  caused  by  showers  of  misty . 
rain,  succeeding  a  very  cold  day,  and  followed  by 
another  equally  cold.  These  fantastic  exhibitions,  de 
pending  on  a  peculiar  train  of  circumstances  for  their 
origin,  do  not  occur  every  year.  As  the  rain  descends 
in  fine  vaporous  particles,  the  frost  that  is  imbedded  in 
the  twigs  and  branches  of  the  trees,  causes  the  rain  to 
congeal  about  them,  until  they  are  covered  with  an  in 
crustation  of  ice.  The  weather  during  the  descent  of 
this  fine  rain,  must  be  as  cold  as  possible,  without  freez- 


FEBRUARY.  35 

ing  it  on  its  passage.  The  crystals  thus  formed  around 
the  twigs,  and  the  icicles  hanging  by  thousands  from 
the  buds  and  extremities  of  the  branches,  form  so  many 
prisms,  which  by  refracting  the  rays  of  the  sun,  as  they 
gleam  through  the  trees,  present  all  the  colors  of  the 
rainbow,  and  like  the  beads  in  a  kaleidoscope,  yield  a 
new  combination  of  forms  and  hues,  with  every  change 
in  the  position  of  the  beholder. 

When  the  sun  is  bright,  and  the  air  is  sufficiently 
cold  to  prevent  the  melting  of  the  icicles,  and  a  gentle 
wind  is  blowing,  the  twigs  are  kept  in  constant  agita 
tion,  sparkling  like  the  gems  in  the  fringe  and  tassels  of 
a  chandelier.  A  spectacle  so  beautiful  amidst  the  deso 
lation  of  winter  scenery,  becomes  immediately  attrac 
tive  to  every  beholder.  When  the  trees  are  full  of  blos 
soms,  though  more  interesting  to  the  true  lover  of  nature, 
they  have  less  of  that  glittering  splendor  which  is  more 
productive  of  the  mere  physical  sensation  of  beauty. 

These  incrustations  of  the  forest,  unless  they  overload 
and  break  down  the  trees,  are  not  unproductive  of  ben 
efit.  By  their  weight  and  brittleness  they  cause  the 
greater  part  of  the  dry  and  rotten  twigs  to  break  off 
and  fall  to  the  ground.  Hence  they  may  be  regarded 
as  so  many  pruning  instruments,  provided  by  nature, 
for  the  purpose  of  separating  the  decayed  and  useless 
branches  from  the  tree,  and  other  substances  which  are 
an  impediment  to  its  growth.  While  the  sound  twigs 
are  enabled  by  their  elasticity  to  yield  to  the  force  of 
the  winds,  the  dry  twigs  snap  off  with  the  icicles  as 
often  as  they  are  shaken  by  the  breeze.  After  one  of 
these  operations  of  nature,  you  may  find  large  quanti 
ties  of  little  dry  branches  lying  under  the  trees,  as 
thickly  spread  as  the  fallen  leaves  in  November.  These 
incrustations  produce  another  beneficial  effect  upon  the 


36  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

trees,  by  pealing  off  the  dry  bark  and  lichens  to  which 
they  adhere,  thus  acting  as  the  scraper  of  the  orchardist. 
After  this,  the  farmers  predict  an  abundant  harvest  of 
fruit ;  and  the  thorough  pruning  and  scraping  thus  per 
formed  for  the  trees,  undoubtedly  contributes  to  this 
effect. 

But  while  descanting  upon  the  appearances  of  nature 
during  the  present  season,  we  are  reminded  of  the 
pleasures  of  the  domestic  fireside.  All  such  enjoyments 
are  intimately  associated  with  rural  recreations;  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  he  alone  who  possesses  that  humble 
mind  and  unvitiated  taste  which  enables  him  to  enjoy 
the  spectacle  of  beauty  and  sublimity  that  is  opened  in 
the  landscape,  is  fitted  for  the  full  enjoyment  of  the 
pleasures  of  the  social  hearth.  Both  of  these  recrea 
tions  are  alike  innocent  and  invigorating  to  the  mind 
and  the  health.  Above  all  other  kinds  of  pleasures  are 
they  unattended  by  any  degrading  and  corrupting  cir 
cumstances.  Such  are  the  blessings  which  a  beneficent 
providence  has  reserved  for  the  humble  and  intelligent 
poor.  While  the  fashionable  and  the  vain  are  striving 
after  unattainable  happiness  in  the  gay  saloon,  or  gaz 
ing  at  costly  pictures  in  a  gallery  of  paintings,  the 
poor  man  is  enjoying  a  little  heaven  in  his  own  family 
circle,  or  gazing  upon  that  noble  picture  presented  by 
nature,  —  the  handiwork  of  the  Deity,  who  sits  in  the 
heavens,  and  makes  the  earth  show  forth  the  wonders 
of  his  skill. 

At  present,  when  the  wintry  winds  are  lurking  around 
our  dwellings,  and  the  tempest  is  lying  in  ambush  under 
the  clouded  horizon,  let  us  who  live  in  comfort  and 
security,  and  have  wherewithal  we  may  benefit  our 
neighbors,  not  forget  those  who  are  borne  down  by 
poverty.  This  is  the  time  when  all  the  hardships  of 


FEBRUARY.  37 

the  poor  are  peculiarly  distressing ;  when  even  the  hon 
est  poor  may  be  driven  to  desperation,  and  constrained 
to  become  disobedient  to  the  moral  law,  because  their 
fellow  men  have  been  unmindful  of  the  law  of  charity. 
Miserable  is  the  man  whose  heart  is  so  hard  that  he 
thinks  not  nor  cares  not  for  these  sufferers.  The  self 
ishness  of  such  a  man  is  to  him  an  unceasing  draught 
of  bitterness ;  while  the  benevolence  of  the  charitable 
man  kindles  a  flame  within  his  breast  that  warms  his 
whole  soul  with  a  glow  of  satisfaction,  and  guides 
him  at  all  times  and  seasons^  into  the  paths  of  virtue 
and  happiness. 


VI. 

KU  INS 


To  all  whose  minds  have  received  an  ordinary 
amount  of  cultivation,  there  are  few  objects  more  inter 
esting  than  the  remains  of  antiquity,  —  whether,  like 
those  of  Greece  and  Rome,  they  call  up  the  history 
of  the  noblest  works  of  art  and  deeds  of  renown,  or 
like  those  of  Egypt,  they  carry  back  the  mind  to  the 
age  of  primeval  superstition,  or  like  the  ruins  of  the 
earth  itself,  they  read  the  story  of  the  antediluvian 
periods,  before  the  present  races  of  animals  were 
created.  In  our  own  .country  where  these  relics  of 
ancient  times,  excepting  those  of  a  geological  descrip 
tion,  are  almost  unknown,  the  people  in  general  can 
hardly  sympathize  with  that  love  of  ruins,  which  is 
almost  a  passion  with  some  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Old  World.  We  have  no  ruined  castles  to  remind  us 
of  ancient  baronial  splendor,  and  of  the  perils  and  hero 
ism  of  the  feudal  ages ;  no  remains  of  gorgeous  temples 
or  triumphal  arches,  to  record  the  deeds  of  a  past  gen 
eration.  The  ancient  history  of.  this  continent  lives 
chiefly  in  tradition ;  and  the  traveller,  who  happens  to 
discover  pne  of  the  few  relics  of  ancient  American 
architecture,  seeks  in  vain  for  any  record  that  will 
explain  its  character  or  design. 


RUINS.  39 

Yet  the  absence  of  the  ruins  of  antiquity  may  have 
a  tendency  to  render  our  people  more  alive  to  impres 
sions  from  those  of  a  more  humble  description  and  of 
recent  origin  which  abound  in  all  places.  When  stroll 
ing  over  the  scenes  of  our  own  land,  who  has  not  often 
stopped  to  ponder  over  the  ruins  of  some  old  dwelling- 
house,  and  to  bring  before  the  mind  the  possible  his 
tory  of  its  inmates  ?  Here  we  perceive  the  completion 
of  a  domestic  romance.  A  series  of  adventures  has 
been  there  commenced,  continued,  and  brought  to  an 
end.  Imagination  is  free  to  indulge  itself  in  making 
up  the  history  of  the  human  beings  who  have  lived  and 
died  there,  and  of  the  romantic  adventures  which  have 
there  been  enacted.  We  do  not  always  endeavor  to 
read  this  history  ;  but  there  is  a  shadowy  conception  of 
something  connected  with  the  old  crumbling  walls  that 
would  be  striking  and  romantic.  To  this  pleasing  oc 
cupation  of  the  fancy  may  undoubtedly  be  ascribed  a 
portion  of  the  interest  always  excited  by  a  view  of  a 
ruined  or  deserted  house.  A  still  deeper  effect  is  pro 
duced  by  the  sight  of  a  mouldering  temple,  or  a  ruined 
castle,  which  are  associated  with  deeds  and  events  of 
greater  magnitude. 

I  am  disposed  to  attribute  the  pleasure  arising  from 
the  contemplation  of  ruins  to  a  truly  noble  affection  of 
the  human  soul,  to  a  veneration  of  the  past,  and  to  a 
longing  to  recover  the  story  of  bygone  ages.  A  ruin 
is  delightful  as  the  scene  of  some  old  tradition,  a  speci 
men  of  ancient  art  and  magnificence,  and  as  evidence 
of  the  truth  of  history.  Nothing,  indeed,  serves  to  place 
so  vividly  before  the  mind  the  picture  of  any  historic 
event  as  the  ivied  and  dilapidated  walls  of  the  building 
in  which  it  occurred.  There  is  likewise  an  emotion  of 
cheerful  melancholy  which  is  awakened  by  viewing  a 


40  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

pile  of  ruins,  an  old  house  or  an  old  church,  venerable 
with  the  mosses  of  time  and  decay.  There  are  other 
objects,  scenes,  and  situations  that  produce  similar 
effects  upon  the  mind,  such  as  a  sight  of  the  ocean  when 
agitated  by  a  tempest,  from  a  place  of  security.  A 
beacon  and  a  light-house  belong  to  the  same  class  of 
objects  ;  and  above  all,  a  monument  by  the  sea-shore, 
erected  to  commemorate  some  remarkable  shipwreck, 
awakens  a  train  of  melancholy  reflections  nearly  allied 
to  the  sentiment  of  -ruins.  But  it  is  not  every  scene  of 
ruins  that  is  capable  of  yielding  pleasure  to  the  be 
holder.  There  is  nothing  agreeable  in  a  view  of  the 
embers  of  a  wide  conflagration,  except  the  gratification 
of  the  curiosity.  Such  a  spectacle  brings  to  the  mind 
only  the  idea  of  destruction  and  misfortune,  which  is 
painful,  and  there  is  nothing  connected  with  it  to  awaken 
any  counteracting  sentiment.  On  the  other  hand,  every 
mind  is  agreeably  affected  by  the  sight  of  an  old  house, 
no  longer  the  habitation  of  man,  serving  only  as  the 
day  retreat  of  .the  owl,  and  the  fancied  residence  of 
beings  of  the  invisible  world.  There  is  a  propensity 
among  men  to  associate  every  ruined  edifice,  however 
great  or  humble,  with  some  romance  or  superstition ; 
and  our  own  people,  who  have  no  magnificent  ruins, 
indulge  the  sentiment  which  is  awakened  by  them,  in 
their  legends  of  haunted  houses,  and  by  identifying 
these  superstitions  with  every  deserted  habitation. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  although  a  cottage  is 
more  poetical  than  a  palace,  when  each  is  in  a  perfect 
condition  —  a  ruined  palace  is  more  poetical  than  a 
ruined  cottage.  A  certain  amount  of  grandeur  must 
be  associated  with  a  ruin  to  render  it  very  effective. 
After  a  family  have  deserted  their  habitation  of  luxury 
and  splendor,  when  they  themselves  have  gone  down  to 


RUINS.  41 

the  grave,  and  their  old  mansion  is  crumbling  with  the 
ravages  of  time,  we  lose  all  that  invidious  feeling  which 
often  prevents  us  from  sympathizing  with  the  wealthy 
when  they  are  living.  They  are  now  on  a  level  with 
the  humblest  cottagers,  and  we  look  upon  their  ruined 
abode  with  a  feeling  of  regret  for  all  the  elegance  and 
greatness  that  have  passed  away.  Indeed,  the  more 
noble  and  magnificent  the  edifice  in  its  original  state, 
the  deeper  is  the  emotion  with  which  we  contemplate 
its  ruins.  This  circumstance  yields  a  singular  charm  to 
the  remains  of  the  ancient  Grecian  temples,  and  to 
those  Gothic  castles,  that  add  such  a  romantic  character 
to  certain  European  landscapes. 

Some  of  the  interesting  accompaniments  of  a  ruined 
building  are  the  plants  which  are  found  clustering 
around  its  old  roof  and  walls.  Nature  always  deco 
rates  what  time  has  destroyed,  and  when  the  ornaments 
of  art  have  crumbled,  she  rears  in  their  place  garlands 
from  her  own  wilds,  and  the  building,  no  longer  beau 
tiful,  is  adorned  with  the  greenness  of  vegetation. 
Hence  certain  plants  have  become  intimately  allied 
with  ruins,  and  derive  from  this  alliance  a  peculiarly 
romantic  interest.  Such  are  the  mosses  and  lichens, 
the  evergreen  ferns,  the  creeper,  and  the  most  of  the 
saxatile  plants  in  America;  and  in  Europe,  the  yellow 
wall-flower,  the  chenopody,  and  the  ivy. 

In  every  ruin,  therefore,  we  see  the  commencement  of 
a  new  and  beautiful  creation.  When  a  tree  has  fallen 
and  has  begun  to  decay,  an  infinite  host  of  curious  and 
delicate  plants,  of  the  simplest  vegetable  forms,  are  fos 
tered  upon  the  surface  of  its  trunk.  Mushrooms  of 
every  description  spring  out  from  the  inner  bark,  and 
lichens  and  mosses,  as  various  in  their  hues  as  they  are 
delicate  in  their  forms,  decorate  all  the  outside.  Insects 

4* 


42  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

which,  under  the  magnifying  glass,  exhibit  the  various 
pi  imes  and  glittering  ornaments  of  the  most  brilliant 
birds  and  butterflies,  live  under  the  protection  of  these 
minute  plants,  as  the  larger  animals  find  shelter  in  a 
forest  of  trees.  When  the  timber  has  entirely  perished, 
and  has  become  assimilated  with  the  soil,  other  hosts 
of  plants  of  a  higher  order  take  the  place  of  the  former, 
until  new  forests  have  reared  their  branches  over  the 
ruins  of  those  of  a  preceding  age.  Rocks,  continents,  and 
worlds  are  subject  to  the  same  decay,  and  the  same  ulti 
mate  renovation.  Thus  the  whole  system  of  the  uni 
verse  is  but  an  infinite  series  of  permutations  and  com 
binations,  all  the  atoms,  amidst  apparent  chaos,  moving 
in  the  most  mathematical  order,  and  gradually  resolving 
themselves  into  organized  forms,  infinite  in  their  num 
bers  and  arrangements. 

In  this  country  we  have  no  classic  ruins.  The  relics 
of  the  ancient  structures  of  the  aborigines  can  hardly 
.awaken  a  romantic  sentiment.  We  cannot  associate 
with  them  any  agreeable  historic  reminiscences.  We 
behold  in  them  only  the  evidences  of  savage,  customs, 
unformed  art,  and  a  miserable  superstition,  which  afford 
nothing  to  admire.  No  scenes  are  so  well  fitted  as  the 
ruins  of  a  great  and  civilized  nation,  to  inspire  the 
mind  with  that  contemplative  habit  which  is  the  foun 
dation  of  the  poetical  character.  They  fill  the  soul 
with  noble  conceptions,  and  serve  to  divert  the  thoughts 
from  a  consideration  of  mere  personal  interest,  and  turn 
them  back  upon  the  ages  of  chivalry  and  romance. 

Nature  has  so  constituted  the  mind  as  to  enable  it  to- 
convert  all  her  scenes,  under  certain  circumstances,  into 
sources  of  pleasure.  It  is  not  the  beautiful  alone  that 
affords  these  agreeable  impressions  ;  nor  is  it  the  cheer 
ful  scenes  only  among  natural  or  artificial  objects  that 


RUINS.  43 

inspire  a  pleasing  sentiment.  While  contemplating  a 
scene  of  ruins,  the  mind  may  have  glimpses  of  truths 
which  are  not  revealed  to  us  in  the  lessons  of  philoso 
phy,  and  which  excite  indefinite  hopes  amidst  apparent 
desolation.  It  is  our  power  of  deriving  pleasure  from 
these  inexplicable  sources  that  gives  a  pile  of  ruins  half 
its  charms.  This  mingled  sentiment  of  hope  and  mel 
ancholy  combines  with  almost  all  our  ideas  of  beauty. 
On  this  account  a  deserted  house  interests  the  mind 
more  than  a  splendid  villa  in  its  perfect  condition ;  and 
a  plain,  overspread  with  classic  ruins,  more  than  a  pros 
pect  of  green  meadows  and  highly  ornamented  gardens. 
It  would  be  idle  to  assert  that  the  human  soul  would 
take  satisfaction  in  contemplating  an  object  that  is  sug 
gestive  of  its  own  dissolution.  This  love  of  ruins 
ought  rather  to  be  considered  as  so  much  evidence  com 
ing  from  them  in  favor  of  the  infinite  duration  of  the 
universe.  They  are  evidence  of  the  great  age  of  the 
earth,  and  proof  of  its  destination  to  exist  during  count 
less  ages  of  the  future.  I  wonder  that  our  theologians 
have  never  deduced  from  this  love  of  ruins,  which  is  so 
universal,  an  argument  for  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 
It  is  evident  that  we  do  not  instinctively  regard  them 
as  proofs  of  mortality :  but  while  we  see  in  them  the 
subjection  of  material  forms  to  those  changes  which 
belong  to  every  thing  that  is  mortal,  we  look  upon  our 
own  souls  as  lifted  above  any'liability  to  these  changes. 
Did  we  innately  perceive  in  them  proof  that  the  mind 
that  constructed  these  wonderful  works  of  art,  perished 
with  them,  we  should  turn  away  from  them  with  a  deep 
despondency,  and  endeavor  to  hide  them  from  our  sight. 
By  a  similar  course  of  reasoning  we  may  account  for 
the  pleasure  which  is  experienced  by  musing  among  the 
tombs. 


44  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

The  scenes  in  our  own  land  which  are  most  nearly 
allied  to  rains  are  the  ancient  rocks  that  gird  our  shores 
and  give  variety  to  our  landscapes.  They  are,  in  fact, 
the  ruins  of  an  ancient  world,  existing  probably  before 
the  human  race  had  made  their  abode  here.  In  these 
rocks  the  frosts  of  thousands  of  winters,  and  the  light 
nings  of  as  many  summers  have  made  numerous  fis 
sures,  and  split  them  asunder  in  many  places.  We 
find  the  same  species  of  saxatile  and  parasitic  plants 
clustering  about  them  which  are  found  among  the  ruins 
of  art.  The  forest  trees  have  inserted  their  roots  into 
their  crevices,  and  oaks  that  have  stood  for  centuries 
nod  their  heads  over  the  brink  of  these  precipices,  and 
cast  a  gloomier  shade  into  the  valleys  below.  Nothing 
can  be  more  affecting  than  some  of  these  ruins  of 
nature,  that  want  only  the  historical  associations  con 
nected  with  the  ruins  of  temples  and  palaces,  to  render 
them  equally  interesting. 

Man's  natural  love  of  mystery,  and  his  proneness  to 
indulge  in  that  emotion  of  grandeur  and  infinity  that 
flows  from  the  sight  of  any  thing  involved  in  the  dim 
ness  of  remote  ages  of  the  past,  are  one  cause  of  the 
intense  interest  felt  in  the  study  of  geology.  With  a 
deep  feeling  of  awe  we  trace  the  footprints  of  those  un 
known  animals  which  were  the  denizens  of  a  former 
world.  The  mind  "  is  roused  to  profound  contempla 
tion  at  the  sight  of  piles  of  rocks  as  high  as  the  clouds, 
recumbent  on  a  bed  of  fern,  and  at  finding  the  remains 
of  animals  that  once  sported  on  the  summits  of  other 
Alps,  now  buried  beneath  the  very  base  and  foundation 
of  ours." 


vir. 

ROCKS. 


IT  is  not  necessary  that  an  object  should  be  intrinsi 
cally  beautiful,  like  a  collection  of  water,  to  add  a  pleas 
ing  feature  to  the  landscape.  Though  rocks,  consid 
ered  apart  from  nature,  are  unsightly  objecls,  yet  no 
scenery  can  be  complete  without  them.  To  a  prospect, 
they  afford  a  variety  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  ob 
tain  from  any  other  objects.*  Without  them  there  is  a 
want  of  those  sudden  transitions  from  the  smooth  to 
the  rough,  from  the  level  to  the  precipitous,  from  the 
beautiful  to  the  wild,  and  from  the  tame  to  the  expres 
sive,  which  are  essential  to  a  perfect  landscape.  It  is 
only  among  rocks  that  the  evergreen  ferns  —  those  beau 
tiful  accompaniments  of  a  rustic  retreat  —  are  found 
growing  abundantly.  There  is  no  more  beautiful  sight 
than  a  series  of  almost  perpendicular  rocks,  covered  on 
all  sides  by  ferns,  with  their  peculiarly  graceful  foliage, 
and  here  and  there  a  rill  trickling  down  their  sides,  and 
forming  channels  through  the  evergreen  mosses.  The 
solitary  glens  formed  by  these  rocks  could  not  be  imi 
tated  by  any  thing  else;  and  their  jutting  precipices 
afford  prospects  unequalled  by  the  gentle  elevations  in 
a  rolling  landscape.  In  a  country  where  rocks  are 


46  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

wanting,  the  land  rises  and  sinks  in  gradual  declivities, 
and  prospects  are  difficult  to  be  obtained  except  from 
lofty  elevations. 

There  is  so  much  that  is  attractive  in  the  abruptness 
of  a  rocky  landscape,  especially  when  covered  with 
trees  and  other  vegetation,  that  many  authors  have  at 
tributed  their  picturesque  character  to  this  rudeness  and 
abruptness.  I  am  inclined,  on  the  other  hand,  to  at 
tribute  this  interesting  expression  to  the  manifest  facility 
which  these  abrupt  situations  afford,  not  only  for  pros 
pect,  but  also  for  pleasant  secluded  retreats.  Large 
clefts,  produced  by  the  parting  of  the  two  sides  of  an 
enormous  rock,  furnish  dells,  often  in  themselves  perfect 
gardens  of  wild  flowers,  bursting  on  the  sight  like  an 
oasis  in  the  middle  of  a  rude  waste.  In  these  places 
there  is  always  a  remarkable  verdure,  as  the  rains  that 
wash  down  their  slopes  conduct  fertility  to  the  soil  at 
their  base.  A  rocky  landscape  is  always  productive  of 
a  greater  variety  of  flowerls  and  shrubs  than  a  plain  or 
rolling  country  of  similar  soil  and  climate. 

There  are  many  plants  whose  native  localities  are  the 
top's  and  sides  of  rocky  cliffs  and  precipices.  Such  are 
the  saxifrage,  the  cistus,  the  toad-flax,  and  the  beautiful 
pedate  violet.  The  graceful  Canadian  columbine  is 
found  mostly  among  the  clefts  of  rocks,  where,  like  a 
little  tender  animal,  it  nestles  under  their  protection, 
and  draws  nourishment  from  the  soil  that  has' accumu 
lated  about  the  mossy  knolls  where  it  has  taken  root. 
To  satisfy  ourselves  of  the  number  and  variety  of  plants 
that  may  grow  spontaneously  upon  a  single  rock,  let  us 
construct  one  in  fancy,  thus  enamelled  by  the  hand  of 
nature. 

We  will  picture  to  ourselves  a  craggy  precipice  rising 
thirty  or  forty  feet  out  of  a  wet  meadow,  and  forming, 


ROCKS.  47 

in  its  irregular  ascent,  several  oblique  and  perpendicular 
sides,  whose  summits  have  collected  several  inches  of 
soil  upon  their  surface.  A  growth  of  pines  and  birches 
covers  its  summit,  together  with  various  shrubs,  such  as 
the  whortleberry,  the  wood-pyrus,  the  spira?a,  and  the 
mountain  andromeda.  Here,  too,  the  Dutch  myrtle  and 
the  sweet  fern  mingle  their  fragrance  with  the  terebin- 
thine  odors  of  the  pines.  The  rocks,  in  the  dryest  situ 
ations,  are  covered  with  a  bedding  of  gray  liverwort, 
which  is  a  perfect  hygrometer,  breaking  like  glass  under 
our  footsteps,  when  the  atmosphere  is  dry,  but  yielding 
like  velvet,  when  it  contains  the  least  moisture.  The 
cup-rnoss  grows  abundantly  along  with  it,  and,  in 
moister  situations,  the  green  delicate  hair-moss,  which, 
is  the  same  that  covers  the  roofs  of  very  old  buildings.. 
The  rain  has  washed  down  from  the  summit  constant 
deposits  from  trees  and  shrubs,  birds  and  quadrupeds,, 
and  formed  a  superficies  of  good  soil  on  all  parts  of  the 
rock  where  it  could  be  retained.  On  the  almost  bare 
surface  grows  the  beautiful  feather  grass,  with  its  nod 
ding  plumes  of  purple  flowers,  supported  only  by  the- 
soil  that  has  accumulated  about  its  roots. 

The  mountain  laurel  luxuriates  upon  these  natural 
terraces,  of  irregular  size,  by  which  we  descend  to  the- 
meadow  at  the  base  of  the  rock.  But  the  mountain 
laurel,  with  its  magnificent  clusters  of  flowers,  is  not 
the  most  attractive  object;  for  the  little  springs  that 
issue  from  the'  crevices  of  the  rock  have  called  out  a 
great  variety  of  ferns  and  lycopodies,  that  cover  its 
sides  with  their  green  foliage,  like  the  tiles  on  the  roof 
of  a  house.  Some  gnarled  oaks  and  graceful  beeches- 
project  from  the  sides  of  the  cliff  which  is  covered  with: 
innumerable  vines.  Besides  the  beautiful  things  that 
cluster  at  our  feet,  and  the  little  winged  inhabitants- 


43  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

natural  to  the  situation,  made  attractive  by  their  varied 
forms,  colors,  and  motions,  this  rock  gives  additional  ex 
tent  to  the  prospect  of  the  surrounding  country,  and 
affords  one  many  different  views  from  the  various  open 
ings  through  its  wood  and  shrubbery. 

Such  are  the  beauties  and  advantages  multiplied 
about  a  mere  rock.  But  in  my  description  I  have 
omitted  to  notice  the  grotto  formed  by  the  shelving  of 
rocks,  and  so  delightful  to  the  traveller  who  seeks  shel 
ter  from  the  sultry  heat  of  noon,  or  to  one  who  aims 
only  to  gratify  a  poetic  imagination.  Rocky  scenery 
always  suggests  to  the  mind  the  various  scenes  and  in 
cidents  of  romantic  adventure;  and  I  believe  the  diffi 
culties  and  dangers  it  presents  to  the  traveller  magnify 
the  interest  of  the  situation.  I  have  often  seen  a  whole 
party  affected  with  an  eager  desire  to  obtain  possession 
of  a  flower  that  was  growing  out  of  the  summit  of  a 
rocky  cliff.  Each  one  would  feel  a  similar  desire  to 
climb  upon  its  sides  and  to  obtain  a  resting-place  upon 
its  dangerous  summit.  All  these  circumstances,  which 
in  real  nature  stimulate  the  adventurous  spirit,  become 
picturesque  when  represented  on  canvas,  by  affording 
the  same  kind  of  stimulus  to  the  imagination  of  the 
beholder.  Hence  the  imaginative  as  well  as  the  adven 
turous  are  equally  delighted  with  this  kind  of  scenery, 
that  arouses  the  enterprise  of  the  one  and  awakens  the 
poetic  feelings  of  the  other.  What  do  we  care  for  a 
scene,  however  beautiful,  which  is  so  tame  as  to  afford 
no  exercise  for  the  imagination  ?  Rocks,  by  increasing 
the  inequalities  of  the  surface,  proportionally  multiply 
the  ideas  and  images  which  are  associated  with  land 
scape. 

It  is  not  an  uninteresting  inquiry  why  a  prospect  be 
held  from  a  rocky  cliff  or  precipice  yields  us  more 


ROCKS.  49 

pleasure  than  the  same  beheld  from  an  even  slope.  Is 
it  the  more  agreeable  when  we  partake  of  any  such  en 
joyments,  to  be  disconnected  from  the  objects  immedi 
ately  around  us  ?  Or  when  standing  upon  a  rock  that 
projects  from  the  surface  of  the  ground,  may  we  not 
experience  an  illusive  feeling  of  elevation  ?  In  the 
town  of  Beverly  are  many  grand  and  delightful  views 
of  the  ocean,  from  different  points  on  the  neighboring 
hills  and  eminences.  Some  of  these  views  are  proba 
bly  unsurpassed  by  the  coast  scenery  in  any  part  of  the 
country.  I  have  repeatedly  observed  that  parties  of 
pleasure,  when  making  an  excursion  among  these  hills, 
are  not  satisfied  with  a  view  of  the  ocean  and  land 
scape,  until  they  have  beheld  them  from  some  elevated 
or  projecting  rock.  There  is  probably  a  poetic  feeling, 
of  isolation  attending  us  when  standing  upon  a  rock, 
that  increases  those  emotions,  whether  of  beauty  or 
sublimity,  which  are  excited  by  the  prospect. 

Any  one  who  has  rambled  over  the  bald  hills  that 
bound  almost  the  whole  northern  shore  of  Massachu 
setts  Bay,  can  bear  witness  to  the  power  of  these  land 
scapes  to  magnify  those  sublime  emotions  that  come 
from  the  aspect  of  desolation.  They  are  felt,  in  these- 
places,  unaccompanied  by  that  profound  melancholy 
which  must  ever  attend  us  when,  contemplating  a  wide 
scene  of  ruins.  Here  the  appearance,  of  desolation  is- 
sufficient  to  awaken  a  deep  emotion  of  sublimity ;  but 
while  surrounded  with  so  many  evidences  of  a  fertile 
and"  prosperous  country,  we  are  equally  affected  with  a 
sense  of  cheerful  exaltation.  I  doubt  whether  the  most 
beautiful  garden  in  Europe  would  afford  so  much  of 
the  luxury  of  mental  emotion,  as  a  ramble  over  these 
bald  hills  affords  to  one  whose  mind  is  properly  attuned 
for  such  enjoyments.  It  is  evident  that  the  hills  with- 

5 


50  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

out  the  rocks  would  be  destitute  of  the  feature  that 
yields  them  their  principal  charm.  From  the  sight  of 
the  rocks  also  comes  that  feeling  of  alliance,  with  past 
ages  of  the  world,  which  tends  greatly  to  elevate  the 
mind  with  sentiments  of  grandeur. 

The  New  England  stonewall,  as  a  portion  of  land 
scape  scenery,  is  generally  considered  a  deformity. 
Still  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  same  lines  of  wooden 
fence,  would  mar  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  a  great 
deal  more.  On  account  of  the  loose  manner  in  which 
the  stones  are  piled  one  upon  another,  as  well  as  the 
character  of  the  materials,  this  wall  harmonizes  with 
the  general  aspect  of  nature  more  agreeably  than  any 
kind  of  wood-work  or  masonry.  It  seems  to  me  less 
of  a  deformity  than  a  hedge  or  any  other  kind  of  a 
fence,  except  in  highly  cultivated  and  ornamented 
grounds.  In  wild  pastures  and  lands  devoted  to  com 
mon  agricultural  purposes,  the  stonewall  is  the  least 
exceptionable  of  any  boundary  mark  that  has  yet  been 
invented.  A  hedge  in  such  places  would  present  to  the 
eye  an  intolerable  formality. 

One  of  the  charms  of  the  stonewall  is  the  manifest 
ease  with  which  it  may  be  overleaped :  it  menaces  no 
infringement  upon  our  liberty.  When  we  look  abroad 
upon  a  landscape  subdivided  only  by  these  long  lines 
of  loose  stones,  we  feel  no  sense  of  constraint:  the 
whole  boundless  range  as  well  as  prospect  is  ours.  An 
appearance  that  cherishes  this  feeling  of  liberty  is  es 
sential  to  the  beauty  of  a  landscape ;  for  no  man  can 
thoroughly  enjoy  a  scene  from  which  he  is  excluded. 
Imagine  to  what  extent  the  peculiar  beauty  of  the 
ocean  would  be  marred,  if  certain  portions  were  in 
closed  by  a  fence  for  the  exclusive  advantage  of  some 
proprietor!  Fences  are  deformities  of  prospect  which 


ROCKS.  51 

(we  are  obliged  to  use  and  to  tolerate ;  but  of  these  the 
stonewall  is  one  of  the  least  exceptionable,  inasmuch 
as  it  harmonizes  with  nature,  and  is  expressive  of  that 
freedom  which  it  affords  to  the  traveller  and  the  ram 
bler. 

It  may  be  remarked  that  no  inconsiderable  share  of 
the  interest  added  to  a  prospect  by  the  presence  of 
rocks,  arises  from  their  connection  with  the  history  of 
past  ages  of  the  world.  They  are  indeed  the  monu 
ments  of  the  antediluvian  ages,  and  no  man  who  is 
acquainted  with  the  commonly  received  geological  facts, 
when  wandering  among  these  relics  of  the  mysterious 
past,  can  fail  to  be  inspired  with  those  emotions  of 
sublimity,  which  proceed  no  less  from  the  wonders  of 
science  than  from  the  bolder  creations  of  poetry. 


VIII. 

OLD     ROAD  S. 


I  CANNOT  say  that  I  am  an  admirer  of  what  are  com 
monly  termed  improvements,  and  seldom  observe  them 
without  a  feeling  of  regret,  except  in  the  very  depth  of 
the  wilderness.  More  of  the  beauty  of  landscape  is  de 
stroyed  every  year  by  attempts  to  beautify  it,  than  by 
the  ignorant  woodman  who  cuts  down  his  trees  for  the 
railroad  or  the  ship-yard.  There  is  a  certain  kind  of 
beauty  which  ought  to  be  cherished  by  the  people  of 
every  land ;  but  this  should  be  done  for  the  sake  of  the 
pleasure  derived  from  the  objects  that  produce  it.  As 
soon  as  we  begin  to  cultivate  a  garden,  or  ornament  a 
house  or  an  inclosure,  with  the  hope  of  dazzling  the 
public  eye,  at  that  moment  the  spell  is  broken,  and  all 
the  enchantment  vanishes.  There  is  something  exceed 
ingly  delightful  in  the  ornaments  that  have  risen  up 
spontaneously  in  those  grounds,  which,  after  they  were 
once  reduced  to  tillage,  have  been  left  for  many  years, 
in  the  primitive  hands  of  nature.  Vain  are  all  our  at 
tempts  to  imitate  these  indescribable  beauties,  such  as 
we  find  along  the  borders  of  an  old  rustic  farm,  by  an 
old  road-side,  or  a  pasture  that  is  overgrown  with  spon 
taneous  shrubbery. 


OLD   ROADS.  53 

This  kind  of  scenery  is  common  in  almost  all  those 
old  roads  which  are  not  used  as  thoroughfares,  but  as 
avenues  of  communication  between  our  small  country 
villages.  Our  land  is  full  of  these  rustic  by-ways ; 
and  the  rude  scenery  about  them  is  more  charming  to 
my  sight  than  the  most  highly  ornamented  landscapes 
which  have  been  dressed  by  the  hand  of  art.  A  part 
of  their  charm  arises,  undoubtedly,  from  their  associa 
tion  in  our  minds,  with  the  simplicity  of  habits  that 
prevails  among  our  rural  populati'on.  But  this  is  not 
all.  I  believe  it  arises  chiefly  from  the  absence  of  al 
most  all  decoration,  save  that  which  nature  has  planted 
with  her  own  hands.  Wherever  we  see  a  profusion  of 
ornaments  introduced  by  art,  though  they  consist  en 
tirely  of  natural  objects,  we  no  longer  feel  the  presence 
of  nature's  highest  charm.  Something  very  analogous 
to  sunshine  is  shut  out.  The  rural  deities  do  not  dwell 
there,  and  cannot  inspire  us  with  a  fulness  of  satisfac 
tion.  It  is  difficult  to  explain  the  mystery ;  but  when  I 
am  rambling  the  fields,  or  travelling  over  one  of  these 
old  roads,  with  that  sort  of  quiet  rapture,  with  which 
we  drift  along  in  a  boat,  down  a  narrow  stream,  through 
the  green  woods  in  summer,  —  the  very  first  highly  arti 
ficial  object  I  encounter  which  bears  evidence  of  being 
put  up  for  exhibition,  dissolves  the  spell,  —  and  I  feel, 
all  at  once,  as  if  I  had  stept  out  -of  Paradise,  into  the 
land  of  worldlings  and  all  their  sordid  vanities. 

The  beauty  of  these  old  roads  does  not  consist  in 
their  crookedness,  though  it  cannot  be  denied  that  this 
quality  prevents  their  being  tiresome,  and  adds  variety 
to  our  prospect,  by  constantly  changing  our  position. 
Neither  does  their  beauty  consist  in  their  narrowness, 
though  it  will  be  admitted  that  this  quality  contributes 
to  their  pleasantness,  by  bringing  their  bushy  side-walks 


54  STUDIES    IN    THE    FIELD    AND    FOREST. 

iiearer  together.  Their  principal  charm  consists  in  the 
•character  of  their  road  sides,  now  overgrown  with  all 
that  blended  variety  of  herbs  and  shrubbery  which  we 
•encounter  in  a  wild  pasture.  We  hear  a  great  deal  of 
^complaint  of  these  old  roads,  because  they  are  crooked 
.and  narrow,  and  because  our  ancestors  did  not  plant 
them  with  trees.  But  trees  have  grown  up  spontane 
ously  in  many  places,  sometimes  forming  knolls  and 
'Coppices  of  inimitable  beauty ;  and  often  an  irregular 
.row  of  trees  and  shrubs,  of  different  species,  adds  a 
pleasing  variety  to  the  scenes. 

And  how  much  more  delightful  is  a  ride  or  a  stroll 
through  one  of  these  old  roads,  than  through  the  most 
ihighly  ornamented  suburbs  of  our  cities,  with  their 
.streets  of  more  convenient  width.  The  very  neglect 
to  which  they  have  been  left,  on  account  of  the  small 
.amount  of  travelling  over  them,  has  caused  numberless 
beauties  to  spring  up  in  their  borders.  In  these  places 
aiature  seems  to  have  regained  her  sovereignty.  The 
.squirrel  runs  freely  along  the  walls,  and  the  hare  may 
be  seen  peeping  timidly  out  of  her  burrow  at  their 
foundation,  or  leaping  across  the  street.  The  hazel 
bushes  often  form  a  sort  of  natural  hedge-row,  for  whole 
furlongs ;  and  the  sparrow  and  the  robin,  and  even  some 
•of  the  less  familiar  birds,  build  their  nests  in  the  green 
thickets  of  barberries,  viburnums,  cornels,  and  whortle- 
tberry  bushes,  that  grow  in  irregular  rows  and  tufts 
.along  the  rough  and  varied  embankments. 

Near -these  old  roads  we  seldom  meet  an  artificial 
object  that  is  made  disagreeable  by  its  manifest  preten 
sions.  Little  one-story  cottages  are  frequent  with  their 
/green  slope  in  front,  and  a  maple  or  an  elm  that  affords 
them  shelter  and  shade.  The  old  stonewall  festooned 
with  wild  grape-vines,  comes  close  up  to  their  in- 


OLD   ROADS.  55 

closures ;  and  on  one  side  of  the  house  the  garden  is 
seen  with  its  unpretending  neatness,  its  few  morning- 
glories,  trained  up  against  the  walls,  its  beds  of  scarlet 
runners,  reared  upon  trellises,  formed  of  the  bended 
branches  of  the  white  birch,  driven  into  the  soil ;  its 
few  rose-bushes  of  those  beautiful  kinds  which  have 
long  been  naturalized  in  our  gardens;  —  when  I  behold 
these  objects,  in  their  Arcadian  simplicity,  I  lose  all 
faith  in  the  .magnificent  splendors  of  princely  gardens. 
I  feel  persuaded  that  in  these  humble  scenes  exists  the 
highest  kind  of  beauty ;  and  that  he  is  the  happiest 
man  who  cares  for  no  more  embellishments  than  his 
own  rustic  family  have  added  to  the  simple  charms  of 
nature. 

Let  us,  therefore,  carefully  preserve  these  ancient 
winding  roads,  with  all  their  primitive  eccentricities. 
Let  no  modern  vandalism,  misnamed  public  economy, 
deprive  the  traveller  of  their  pleasant  advantages,  by 
stopping  up  their  beautiful  curves,  and  building  shorter 
cuts  for  economizing  distance.  Who  that  is  journeying 
for  pleasure  is  not  delighted  with  them,  as  they  pass  on 
through  pleasant  valleys,  under  the  brows  of  hills, 
along  the  banks  of  green  rivers,  or  the  borders  of  silvery 
lakes ;  now  half  way  up  some  gentle  eminence  that 
commands  a  view  of  a  neighboring  village,  or  winding 
round  a  hill,  and  giving  us  a  back  view  of  the  scenes 
we  have  just  passed.  They  are  no  niggardly  econo 
mists  of  time;  but  they  seem  as  if  purposely  contrived 
to  present  to  the  eye  of  the  traveller  every  thing  that 
renders  the  country  desirable  to  the  sight ;  now  leading 
us  over  miles  bounded  by  old  grey  stonewalls,  half 
covered  with  sweet  briars,  viburnums,  and  golden  rods ; 
then  again  through  fragrant  woods,  under  the  brink  of 
precipices,  nodding  with  wild  shrubbery,  and  seeming 


56  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

to  emulate  the  capricious  windings  of  the  stream,  in  its 
blue  course  among  the  hills.  How  pleasant  when  jour 
neying,  to  enter  a  village  by  one  of  these  gentle  sweeps 
that  gives  one  several  glimpses  of  its  scenes,  in  differ 
ent  aspects,  before  our  arrival.  How  much  indeed 
would  be  done  for  us  by  nature,  if  we  did  not  in  con 
formity  with  certain  notions  of  improvement,  constantly 
check  her  spontaneous  efforts  to  cover  the  land  with 
beauty. 


IX. 

MARCH. 


To  the  inhabitants  of  a  variable  climate  like  our  own, 
the  weather  is  at  all  times  one  of  the  most  interesting 
themes  of  speculation :  but  at  no  period  of  the  year 
does  it  come  more  directly  home  to  our  feelings  than  in 
March.  We  know  that  there  is  a  new  sign  in  the 
heavens,  and  the  altitude  of  the  sun  in  his  meridian 
seems  plainly  to  assure  us  of  the  comforts  of  the  ver 
nal  season.  But  the  aspect  of  the  heavens  is  constantly 
changing,  the  winds  ever  veering,  clouds  alternating 
with  sunshine,  wind  with  calm,  and  rain  with  snow,  so 
that  we  are  never  sure,  on  a  bland  morning  in  March, 
when  the  sun  is  shining  almost  with  the  fervor  of  sum 
mer,  that  we  may  not  be  overtaken  by  a  snow-storm  be 
fore  noonday,  or  the  cold  of  the  arctic  circle  before  sun 
set.  Any  one  of  the  three  winter  months,  though  sel 
dom  otherwise  than  cold  and  stormy,  may  once  in  a 
few  years  be  mild  and  pleasant  from  beginning  to  end: 
but  March  preserves  the  same  variable  and  boisterous 
weather  from  year  to  year ;  and  is  the  only  month  when 
day's  harbingers  never  fulfil  their  promises  ;  when  the 
rosy-bosomed  hours,  that  come  up  with  the  morning, 
and  the  fair  sisters,  that  weave  the  garlands  of  evening, 
are  all  deceivers. 


58  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

Though  the  present  time  is  nominally  the  spring  of 
the  year,  as  yet  there  is  not  a  flower  in  the  fields  or  gar 
dens,  and  the  buds  of  the  trees  are  hardly  swollen  with 
waking  vegetation.  The  wild  flowers  are  still  buried 
under  the  snows  and  ices  of  winter,  and  the  grass  has 
begun  to  look  green  only  under  the  southern  protection 
of  the  walls  and  fences.  Many  of  the  early  birds,  fol 
lowing  the  southerly  winds  that  occasionally  prevail  for 
a  few  days,  and  tempted  by  the  bright  sunshine  of  the 
season,  have  arrived  from  their  winter  haunts,  and  sing 
and  chirp  alternately,  as  if  they  were  debating  whether 
to  remain  here,  or  to  return  to  a  more  genial  clime.  It 
is  a  singular  instinct  that  prompts  so  many  species  of 
birds  to  leave  their  pleasant  abiding  places  at  the  south, 
where  every  agreeable  condition  of  climate,  shelter,  and 
provision  for  their  wants  is  present,  and  press  onward 
into  the  northern  regions,  before  the  rigors  of  winter 
have  been  subdued,  and  while  they  are  still  liable  to 
perish  with  cold  or  starvation.  Often  with  anxious 
compassion  have  I  watched  these  little  bewildered  song 
sters,  who  have  so  unseasonably  returned  from  the  re 
gion  of  perpetual  summer,  when  after  commencing 
their  morning  lays,  as  if  they  believed  the  vernal  prom 
ises  of  dawn,  they  were  obliged  to  flee  into  the  depths 
of  the  woods,  to  find  a  shelter  from  the  driving  snow 
storm. 

It  may  seem  remarkable  that,  before  vegetation  has 
awakened,  there  should  be  a  resuscitation  of  some  of 
the  insect  tribes.  But  in  warm,  sheltered  situations 
many  small  flies  may  be  seen,  either  newly  hatched,  or 
revived  by  the  heat  of  the  sun.  They  do  not  seek  food, 
but  crawl  about  in  dry  places,  sometimes  rising  into  the 
air,  and  drowsily  and  awkwardly  exercising  their  wings. 
So  exposed  is  this  class  of  animated  things  to  the 


MARCH.  59 

mercy  of  climate,  that  nature  has  made  them  insus 
ceptible  of  injury  from  the  severest  cold  ;  and  many 
species,  though  inclosed  in  masses  of  solid  ice,  may  be 
revived  by  gradual  heat,  and  fly  abroad  as  gayly  as  if 
they  had  only  been  refreshed  by  sleep.  But  the  period 
of  life  assigned  to  insects  is  very  short,  and  before  the 
arrival  of  winter,  the  brief  and  joyous  life  of  nearly  all 
species  is  terminated,  and  their  offspring  in  an  embryo 
state  lie  torpid  until  a  new  spring  calls  them  into  a 
wakeful  existence. 

Our  climate  being  a  discordant  mixture  of  the  weather 
of  two  opposite  latitudes,  pouring  in  alternately  upon 
us,  is  the  most  variable  and  deceitful  in  the  world.  Al 
ternating  with  each  other,  and  crowding  out  the  proper 
weather  of  this  temperate  latitude,  and  struggling,  as  it 
were,  for  the  mastery,  are  two  winds,  one  that  sweeps 
across  the  Canadas,  and  brings  hither  the  cold  of  the 
polar  regions ;  the  other  that  comes  from  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  and  brings  hither  the  summer  breezes  of  the 
tropics.  No  natural  barrier  is  interposed  to  check  their 
progress  whenever  any  climatal  influence  urges  them 
onward.  The  prevalence  of  a  moderate  temperature 
in  this  part  of  the  country,  during  a  calm,  at  all  times, 
either  in  spring  or  autumn,  proves  this  to  be  the  true 
weather  of  our  latitude.  The  north  and  south  winds 
are  intruders,  that  spoil  the  comfort  we  should  otherwise 
enjoy  in  the  open  air,  at  all  seasons,  except  the  three 
months  of  winter.  Our  climate  may,  therefore,  not  un 
aptly  be  compared  to  a  village  that  is  peopled  by  a  set 
of  quiet  and  peaceable  inhabitants,  but  is  visited  by 
troublesome  people  from  the  adjoining  villages,  who, 
by  their  quarrels  with  each  other,  keep  it  in  a  constant 
uproar,  leaving  the  villagers  only  an  occasional  respite 
during  their  absence,  when  all  again  is  quiet. 


60  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

Hence  if  we  have  cold  in  March,  it  is  a  cold  that  will 
soon  be  succeeded  by  heat;  if  we  have  clouds,  the 
darkness  they  bring  will  soon  be  succeeded  by  sunshine. 
We  see  none  of  those  melancholy  clouds,  so  common 
in  the  latter  part  of  autumn,  that  remain  for  weeks 
brooding  over  the  landscape,  as  if  the  heavens  were 
hung  in  mourning  for  the  departure  of  summer:  none 
of  that  ominous  darkness  in  the  glens  and  the  valleys, 
denoting  that  the  sun  has  at  length  quietly  surrendered 
to  the  frosty  conqueror  of  the  earth.  Though  March  is 
colder,  it  has  more  light  than  November.  The  sun  is 
daily  increasing  in  power,  and  the  snow  that  still  re 
mains  on  the  earth  renders  the  effect  of  his  rays  more 
brilliant  and  animating.  The  clouds  at  this  season  are 
seldom  motionless ;  they  are  borne  along  rapidly  by  the 
brisk  winds,  now  enveloping  the  landscape  in  gloom, 
then  suddenly  illuminating  it  with  sunshine,  and  caus 
ing  that  constant  play  of  light  and  shade  which  is  pe 
culiar  to  the  early  spring. 

In  March,  we  are  not  without  occasional  days  of 
agreeable  serenity;  and  at  such  times  we  begin  to  look 
about  us,  among  the  sheltered  retreats  in  the  woods 
and  mountains,  to  watch  the  earliest  budding  of  vege 
tation.  Sometimes  in  the  latter  part  of  the  month,  un 
der  the  slope  of  a  hill  that  faces  the  meridian  sun,  and 
is  sheltered  by  surrounding  woods,  we  may  discover  the 
delicate  blossoms  of  the  ground  laurel  (epigea  repens), 
and  within  the  edge  of  the  woods  a  few  flowers  of  the 
early  anemone  (hepatica  triloba).  But  these  flowers, 
so  early  in  the  season,  denote  an  unusual  state  of  for 
wardness,  and  seldom  make  their  appearance  until  after 
the  middle  of  April.  At  such  times,  while  sauntering 
about  the  fields,  rejoicing  in  what  seems  to  be  the 
actual  return  of  spring,  the  fierce  north  wind  commences 


MARCH.  61 

his  raging  anew,  drives  one  home  by  his  attacks,  and 
ere  another  morning  arrives,  the  birds  lie  concealed 
in  the  depths  of  the  woods,  whither  they  have  been 
driven  by  a  snow-storm,  and  all  hearts  are  again  sad 
dened  by  the  universal  aspect  of  winter. 

The  change  that  has  taken  place  in  the  appearance 
of  the  sun  at  his  rising,  since  the  opening  of  this  month,, 
may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  usual  indications  of  the 
reviving  spring.  The  atmosphere,  on  clear  mornings,  is. 
more  heavily  loaded  with  vapors  than  is  usual  at  the 
same  hour  in  winter.  The  exhalations  of  the  preceding 
day  have  been  descending  in  frosty  dews  by  night  upon 
the  plains,  and  seem  to  be  gathered  thickly  about  the 
horizon,  and  yield  to  the  first  beams  of  the  sun  a  tint 
of  purple  and  violet,  like  the  dawn  of  a  summer  morn 
ing.  The  sun,  in  midwinter,  when  there  are  no  vapors 
resting  on  the  lakes  and  meadows,  the  cold  winds 
having  frozen  every  source  of  exhaling  moisture,  rises 
suddenly  into  a  pure,  transparent  atmosphere.  But  as 
spring  advances,  and  the  sun  rises  higher  into  the  zenith,, 
the  evaporation  increases,  the  atmosphere,  in  the  morn 
ing,  becomes  charged  with  prismatic  vapors,  and  every 
mead  and  valley  is  crowned  at  sunrise  with  wreaths  of 
mist,  adorned  with  the  hues  of  the  rainbow.  Hence 
the  crimson  haze  that  accompanies  the  dawn,  denotes- 
that  the  icy  fountains  are  unlocked,  and  that  the  lakes 
and  rivulets  are  again  pouring  out  their  dewy  offerings, 
to  the  skies. 

March  is  ..an  unpleasant  month  for  the  rambler- 
There  is  but  little  comfort  abroad,  either  for  the  feet 
upon  the  ground  we  tread,  or  for  our  sensations  in  the 
air  we  breathe.  Still  I  would  not  relinquish  my  walks,, 
except  in  storms  or  the  severest  cold.  There  is  an  in 
terest  in  roaming  abroad  at  this  time,  though  it  be  our 

6 


62  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

object  but  to  watch  the  breaking  up  of  the  ices,  and  to 
mark  the  progress  of  the  thousand  new  made  rivulets, 
that  leap  down  the  snowy  mountains  towards  the  grand 
reservoir  of  waters.  And  there  are  places  always  to  be 
found  which  are  inviting  to  the  solitary  pedestrian, 
during  the  most  uncomfortable  seasons;  on  the  sunny 
slope  of  a  chain  of  hills,  or  the  southern  border  of  a 
wood,  or  under  the  banks  of  the  seaside,  where  the 
high  bluffs  protect  one  from  the  winds,  and  the  sandy 
beach  affords  a  dry  and  agreeable  promenade. 

Though  the  fields  at  this  time  afford  to  the  mere  vir 
tuoso  but  few  inducements  for  his  researches,  yet  the 
treas-ures  of  the  sea-shore  are  as  abundant  as  at  any 
other  season.  The  collector  of  shells  would  find  no 
great  variety  of  rare  specimens  on  our  New  England 
coast ;  but  there  are  objects  everywhere  to  be  found 
which  are  interesting  and  beautiful.  It  is  not,  however, 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  collecting  curiosities  to  enrich 
the  variety  of  one's  cabinet,  that  the  true  lover  of  nature 
would  visit  her  walks,  in  field  and  forest,  or  by  the  sea 
shore.  Almost  all  nature's  beautiful  productions  lose 
their  charms  in  my  sight,  as  soon  as  they  are  removed 
from  her  domains.  I  love  to  view  them  in  connection 
with  those  scenes  for  whose  embellishment  they  were 
evidently  created ;  and  a  garden  filled  with  the  fairest 
flowers  of  all  climes  soon  languishes  upon  my  sight,  that 
views  with  rapture  a  solitary  violet,  blooming  under  the 
shelter  of  mosses,  or  a  primrose  on  a  barren  plain,  sur 
rounded  by  sedges  and  wild  indigo.  Every  object  be 
comes  more  charming  when  associated  with  some  agree 
able  rural  sentiment. .  It  is  for  this  reason  that  a  hum 
ble  and  solitary  cottage  in  the  wilderness  is  a  more 
interesting  object  than  all  the  courtly  splendor  of  a 
city. 


MAKCH.  63 

People  who  have  always  lived  in  the  interior  of  the 
country,  can  have  but  little  conception  of  the  pleasure 
of  a  seaside  ramble,  which  is,  during  this  month,  when 
the  sharp  west  winds  prevail  more  than  from  any  other 
quarter,  particularly  pleasant.  Among  the  lakes  and 
rivers,  and  hills  and  valleys  of  an  interior  landscape, 
though  there  may  be  found  an  endless  variety  of  pas 
toral  beauty,  yet  there  is  nothing  that  will  compare  with 
the  sublimity  and  extent  of  a  water  prospect  cm  the 
banks  of  the  sea.  Neither  can  such  a  view  be  fully 
appreciated  by  those  who  have  beheld  it  only  from  the 
harbor  of  a  large  city,  where  so  many  of  the  works  of 
art  cover  and  conceal  its  native  magnificence,  and  with 
draw  the  mind  from  those  solemn  but  cheerful  contem 
plations  that  would  otherwise  be  awakened  by  the 
scene.  We  must  go  forth  upon  the  solitary  shores,  at 
a  distance  from  the  town,  and  walk  upon  the  high  bluffs 
that  project  far  enough  into  the  sea  to  afford  sight  of  a 
complete  hemisphere  of  waters,  to  obtain  a  just  idea 
of  a  sea  prospect.  When  we  look  from  the  deck  of  a 
sailing  ship,  where  nothing  on  all  sides  is  to  be  seen  ex 
cept  the  ocean,  bounded  by  the  circle  that 'seems  to 
divide  the  dark  blue  of  the  waters  from  the  more  ethe 
real  azure  of  the  skies,  —  while  contemplating  such  a 
scene,  our  emotions,  though  sublime  and'  solemn,  are 
not  agreeable.  But  when  this  blue  expanse  of  waters 
divides  the  prospect  equally  with  the  landscape,  that  is 
spread  out  in  a  luxuriant  variety  of  woodland,  plain, 
and  mountain,  as  viewed  from  an  elevated  promontory, 
the  emotions  excited  by  the  sublimity  of  the  scene,  on 
the  one  hand,  are  softened  into  tranquil  pleasure  by  the 
beauty  and  loveliness  of  the  opposite  prospect. 

There  is  no  month  which  is  so  apt  an  emblem  as 
March,  with  its  constant  and  unexpected  changes  of 


64  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

weather,  its  sunshine  and  gloom,  its  winds  and  calms, 
of  the  vicissitudes  of  human  life.  On  the  present  day, 
the  gales  are  wafting  upon  their  wings,  as  the  hopes  of 
youth  are  borne  upon  the  fancy,  all  the  gay  promises  of 
spring  ;  to-morrow  the  cold  blasts  of  winter  are  pouring 
down  from  the  frozen  regions  of  the  north,  and  all  the 
vernal  hopes  of  yesterday  are  crowned  with  disappoint 
ment.  Thus  on  one  day  of  our  lives,  every  circum 
stance  seems  to  promise  immediate  happiness ;  the  next 
upon  its  arrival,  brings  nothing  but  the  dismal  evidence 
of  the  deceitfulness  of  those  promises.  Still  in  the 
midst  of  all  these  vicissitudes  of  climate,  there  is  always 
a  satisfactory  assurance,  that  the  alternations  of  cold 
and  heat,  gloom  and  sunshine,  will  settle  down  at  last 
into  the  general  calm  of  summer,  which  must,  in  the 
course  of  nature,  soon  arrive.  And  thus  while  sur 
rounded  by  the  adversities  of  life,  that  come  upon  us 
like  wintry  storms  in  March,  when  we  are  looking  for 
spring,  there  is  always  a  hope  existing  in  our  minds, 
that  a  tranquil  and  summer  prosperity  will  erelong 
take  the  place  of  our  present  troubles  and  calamities. 


X. 

WEATHER    SIONS, 


WE  are  continually  surrounded  by  perils  arising  from 
the  changes  of  the  weather;  and  man  has  always 
looked  anxiously  up  to  heaven,  with  the  hope  that 
some  kindly  foreboding  might  be  revealed  to  him  from 
on  high,  of  the  -changes  that  may  happen.  There  are 
cycles  in  the  heavens  as  there  are  seasons  on  the  earth, 
and  the  former  may  be  calculated  with  the  same  pre 
cision  as  the  latter.  All  periodic  changes  belong  to 
these  .exact  calculations  ;  but  such  as  are  not  periodical, 
can  never  be  certainly  foreknown,  and  the  aim  of  the 
observer  .of  the  weather,  is  to  guess  at  the  principles  by 
which  they  are  governed,  and  to  learn  as  much  of  their 
operation  as  may  be  calculated  by  attending  to  visible 
phenomena. 

Nature  gives  intimations  of  all  approaching  changes ; 
but  these  forewarnings  are  so  numerous  and  appertain  to 
so  many  elements,  that  it  is  difficult  to  ascertain  them, 
and  to  fit  them  together  so  as  to  convey  any  certain 
knowledge  to  the  mind.  It  is  not  that  nature  is  varia 
ble  in  her  laws,  or  in  the  signs  she  displays  to  indicate 
the  operation  of  those  laws;  but  in  the  infinitude  of 
these  combinations,  we  can  seldom  read  her  meaning 
6* 


66  STUDIES    IN    THE    FIELD    AND    FOREST. 

with  accuracy.  She  has  a  written  and  a  spoken  lan 
guage,  and  the  misinterpretation  of  a  single  word  may 
reverse  the  true  meaning  of  her  sentences.  All  the 
sounds  of  the  elements,  could  we  interpret  them,  would 
convey  to  our  minds  some  palpable  ideas  of  the  changes 
in  the  weather ;  for  never  is  there  a  change  in  one  of 
the  elements,  but  the  others  give  some  intimation  of  it 
either  to  the  ear,  or  to  the  eye.  These  mystic  words 
we  can  never  understand,  unless  we  study  them  in  con 
nection  with  those  written  signs  which  are  painted  on 
the  skies,  in  the  forms  of  the  clouds,  in  the  aspects  of 
the  heavenly  bodies,  in  the  dews  upon  the  grass,  in  the 
frost  upon  the  trees  and  windows,  and  the  meteoric 
phenomena  displayed  by  day  and  by  night.  If  we  find 
that  what  nature  has  telegraphed  upon  the  heavens 
does  not  seem  to  correspond  with  the  minuter  signs 
which  she  exhibits  upon  the  dews,  the  flowers,  and 
other  vegetation,  the  fault  is  in  our  interpretations  of  her 
language. 

Let  us  not  despair,  however,  in  our  attempts  to  ac 
quire  a  knowledge  of  these  signs.  By  constantly  noting 
their  details,  and  observing  them  under  all  their  differ 
ent  modes  of  combination,  we  may  arrive  at  a  degree 
of  accuracy  which  may  enable'  us  to  predict  a  storm 
with  as  much  certainty  as  we  now  predict  an  eclipse. 
We  are  to  seek  for  these  signs  not  merely  upon  the 
heavens  and  out  of  doors ;  for  within  doors,  by  our  par 
lor  fireside  or  our  kitchen  hearth,  many  phenomena  are 
revealed  to  us  which  are  as  important  as  the  prophetic 
clouds  upon  the  sky,  or  the  dews  and  vapors  upon  the 
plain.  When  a  storm  is  about  to  gather  over  our 
heads,  the  vapor  from  the  boiling  water  over  our  kitchen 
fires,  hastens  to  join  the  gathering  clouds,  and  the  water 
is  more  rapidly  evaporated.  This  is  probably  a  bare- 


WEATHER    SIGNS.  67 

metrical  phenomenon  ;  and  a  similarly  increased  evapo 
ration  of  waters  from  every  existing  source  may  be  one 
important  cause  of  the  rain  or  snow  that  follows. 
Whatever  the  state  of  the  atmosphere  may  be  that 
causes  this  more  rapid  evaporation,  it  is  evident  that  if 
it  be  universal,  it  must  be  followed  by  an  extraordinary 
accumulation  of  moisture  which,  as  soon  as  an  oppo 
site  barometrical  state  of  the  atmosphere  ensues,  must 
generate  clouds  and  rain. 

While  from  these  humble  sources  the  atmosphere  is 
gathering  a  tribute  of  moisture,  which  must  soon  be 
restored  to  some  part  of  the  earth,  the  aspects  of  nature 
do  not  remain  unchanged.  These  aspects  vary  with 
the  season  of  the  year,  and  also  with  the  prevailing 
habit  of  the  weather  during  that  period,  whether  wet  or 
dry,  cold  or  hot.  When  our  attention  is  attracted 
within  doors  to  the  more  rapidly  evaporating  water,  the 
weaker  draught  in  the  chimney,  the  peculiar  flickering 
of  the  blaze  of  the  lamp,  or  to  any  other  indoor  signals, 
we  should  probably,  on  looking  out  of  doors,  find  the 
aspect  of  the  heavens  assuming  a  change.  If  the  sky 
has  been  clear,  some  beautiful  collections  of  cirrus  will 
be  seen  assembling  in  the  upper  heavens,  with  their 
minute  fibres  spread  out  like  electrified  down.  These 
fleecy  clouds  are  constantly  augmenting,  and  generally 
observe  a  particular  direction  in  their  radiations,  corre 
sponding  not  always  with  the  direction  of  the  wind, 
but  probably  with  some  current  of  electricity  in  the 
region  where  they  lie. 

When  these  gossamer  clouds  have  become  very  gen 
erally  diffused,  and  have  arranged  themselves  in  many 
beautiful  configurations,  they  will  soon  begin  to  suffer  a 
metamorphosis.  The  straight  diverging  fibres  that  re 
sembled  hairs  or  the  feathery  portion  of  a  quill,  arranged 


68  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

in  order  oil  each  side  of  a  darker  line  that  passes  be 
tween  them,  will  slowly  gather  themselves  into  little 
rounded  heaps,  resembling  the  spots  on  the  back  of  a 
fish.  It  is  this  spotted  appearance  which  has  caused  it 
to  be  named  mackerel  cloud,  by  the  fishermen.  The 
cirrus  is  soon  entirely  resolved  into  this  mottled  cloud, 
as  if  all  its  filaments  had,  by  some  mechanical  process, 
been  twisted  into  rolls;  but  it  is  only  by  observing  the 
succeeding  phenomena  that  we  can  decide  whether  this 
appearance  is  to  be  regarded  as  the  precursor  of  wet 
weather.  Underneath  this  dappled  cloud  there  is  often 
a  mass  of  fleecy  vapor  that  appears  to  be.  slowly  resolv 
ing  itself  into  the  cloud  above  it.  As  this  vapor  is  pre 
cipitated  from  the  lower  atmosphere,  it  is  attracted  by 
the  cloud  above  it  which  is  constantly  thickening  as  the 
last  is  slowly  incorporated  with  it.  When  we  observe 
this  double  layer  of  cloud,  we  are  reassured  that  the 
promises  of  rain  held  out  by  the  former  appearances, 
are  likely  to  be  fulfilled.  The  upper  cloud  is  rendered 
more  and  more  dense  by  reinforcements  from  this  lower 
formation,  until  it  assumes  the  character  of  huge  masses 
rolled  together  in  uniform  heaps,  which  are  now  dis 
tinctly  tfeen  moving  in  the  direction  of  the  wind.  Rain 
soon  follows,  especially  if  underneath  all  this  moving 
mass,  a  scud  is  seen  proceeding  rapidly  in  a  contrary 
direction. 

If  this  mackerel  cloud  (cirro-cumulus)  happens  to  be 
formed  during  a  period  of  extensive  drought,  it  is  soon 
absorbed  into  the  upper  regions  of  the  atmosphere,  and 
the  skies  become  clear  again,  without  the  promised  rain. 
This  dissolution  commonly  takes  place  just  after  sunset, 
commencing  at  early  dew-fall.  The  clouds  are  first 
formed  from  the  condensation  of  moisture  into  a  visible 
shape  by  the  cooling  influence  x>f  contact  with  an  upper, 


WEATHER   SIGNS.  69 

colder  current  of  air.  While  the  sun  continues  to  shine 
upon  the  earth,  a  sufficient  quantity  of  moisture  is  sup 
plied  by  evaporation  from  the  earth's  surface  to  keep  up 
the  cloud-forming  process.  As  soon,  however,  as  the 
sun  begins  to  decline,  this  supply  of  moisture  is  cut  off. 
The  surrounding  air,  on  cooling,  deposits  all  supera 
bundant  moisture  in  the  shape  of  dew,  and  no  more 
vapor  ascends  to  complete  the  organization  of  the 
clouds  in  the  upper  air.  Hence  they  are  gradually  re- 
absorbed  into  the  atmosphere  by  a  process  which,  in 
the  daytime,  was  not  sufficiently  rapid  to  keep  pace 
with  the  reinforcements  from  beneath. 

After  the  evaporation  from  the  earth  has  been  dimin 
ished  by  the  withdrawal  of  the  sun's  heat  and  rays,  if 
the  clouds  still  continue  to  thicken,  there  is  evidence 
that  they  are  receiving  supplies  from  a  source  indepen 
dent  of  immediate  evaporation  from  the  earth's  surface. 
The  upper  currents  of  the  atmosphere  are  probably 
saturated  with  moisture  which  renders  it  incapable  of 
absorbing  the  clouds  in  contact  with  it.  If,  at  this  con 
juncture,  a  damp  wind  from  the  ocean  were  to  set  in 
underneath,  the  clouds  .between  these  two  damp  strata 
of  air  would  be  constantly  gaining  density,  and  would 
soon  become  so  heavy  as  to  descend  in  rain.  If  the 
clouds,  therefore,  which  are  formed  during  the  day, 
evaporate  soon  after  sunset,  we  know  that  they  are  de 
pendent  on  immediate  supplies  of  vapor  from  the  earth's 
surface;  but  if  they  continue ' to  increase  after  sunset, 
there  is  proof  that  the  atmosphere  above  and  below 
them  is  saturated  with  moisture,  and  rain  will  be  likely 
to  follow. 

When  all  these  cdnditions  are  present,  the  lower  ani 
mals  are  instigated  to  perform  certain  unusual  actions 
and  to  make  a  temporary  suspension  of  their  usual 


70  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD    AND   FOREST. 

habits.  These  habits  of  birds,  insects,  and  other  ani 
mals,  however,  may  often  avail  us  as  weather  signs, 
before  any  atmospheric  changes  have  become  percepti 
ble  to  us.  But  these  creatures  are  not  to  be  regarded 
as  prophets.  Man  only  prophesies  by  observing  the 
connection  between  their  actions  and  the  weather  that 
follows.  The  tree-frog  that  from  the  old  oak  utters  his 
signal  cries,  enables  us  to  prognosticate  a  shower,  of 
which  he  knows  nothing.  He  feels  the  agreeable  influ 
ence  of  a  damper  atmosphere  that  precedes  a  shower, 
and  his  voice  is  heard  at  noonday  uttering  those  sounds 
which  are  commonly  heard  only  at  dew-fall.  The  swal 
low  flies  low  and  often  dips  into  the  stream,  because 
she  finds  near  the  surface  of  the  water  a  greater  abun 
dance  of  insects  which  are  prevented  from  rising,  by  the 
dampness  of  the  air. 

During  the  prevalence  of  these  phenomena,  the 
heavenly  bodies  often  exhibit  peculiar  aspects  and  add 
new  assurances  to  our  predictions.  As  nature,  after  a 
genial  shower  in  summer,  raises  her  bow  in  the  clouds, 
to  be  at  the  same  time  a  proof  of  the  subsidence  of  the 
tempest  and  a  signal  for  a  general  hymn  of  gladness  to 
'the  unseen  Deity;  —  in  like  manner  before  a  shower, 
she  encircles  the  moon  with  a  luminous  halo,  to  give 
kindly  warning  of  the  coming  event.  The  constella 
tions  are  often  arrayed  in  unusual  brightness,  and  then 
suddenly  begin  to  wane.  Hesperus,  after  leading  forth 
the  bright  hosts  of  evening,  sinks  down  behind  a  pavil 
ion  of  mist,  and  the  chaste  Diana  displays  her  crescent 
dripping  with  dews,  as  if  she  had  just  risen  out  of  the 
aerial  damps  of  the  earth.  It  was  not  all  in  vain  that 
the  ancients  believed  the  moon  to  be  placed  in  heaven, 
not  only  to  illuminate  the  night,  but  also  to  unfold  to 
the  inhabitants  of  earth  the  presages  of  the  future  ; 


WEATHER   SIGNS.  71 

accordingly  in  the  circular  halo,  in  the  lunar  rainbow 
and  the  dripping  crescent,  man  may  behold  on  a  still, 
calm  night,  the  omens  of  an  approaching  tempest. 

The  vegetable  world  shows  intimate  relations  to  all 
these  meteoric  phenomena;  and  never  does  the  hair 
cloud  in  the  upper  heavens  reveal  the  commencement 
of  a  change,  but  the  flower  of  the  chickweed  by  half 
closing  its  sensitive  cup,  responds  to  the  same  predic 
tion.  When  the  clouds  have  gathered  thickly  around 
this  delicate  nucleus,  and  the  blue  sky  is  hidden  by  a 
congregated  multitude  of  cumuli,  until  the  heavens  are 
dappled  all  over  with  their  dark  masses  —  then  this 
little  flower  folds  together  its  white  petals  and  its  green 
calyx,  as  if  to  preserve  the  delicate  stamens  that  are 
arranged  like  so  many  little  nestlings  in  its  minute 
flower  cups,  from  all  impending  change.  Every  little 
flower  droops  its  head  and  prepares  to  meet  the  storm, 
and  as  the  air  becomes  still  more  heavily  loaded  with 
moisture,  the  clover  and  the  wobd-sorrel  contract  their 
tri-foliate  leaves ;  and  upon  the  barren  hills,  the  gray 
lichens,  whose  brittle  branches  so  generally  crumble  be 
neath  our  tread,  have  become  firm  and  elastic.  Thus 
do  all  the  phenomena  of  the  earth  arid  the  heavens  cor 
respond  in  their  significations ;  and  the  sea-gulls  that 
leave  the  vicinity  of  the  ocean  and  settle  down  restlessly 
near  some  inland  harbor,  bring  us  assurance  that  above 
their  own  home  on  the  waters,  the  elements  are  prepar 
ing  for  strife. 

The  clouds  have  at  length  accumulated  so  as  to 
darken  all  the  sky ;  the  cormorant  has  forsaken  the  sea  j 
and  the  plover  and  the  curlew  seem  restless  and  agitated 
in  their  usual  haunts  upon  the  shore.  The  pimpernel 
has  closed  its  scarlet  flowers,  and  the  purple  sandwort 
that  clusters  around  our  door  steps  in  dry  places,  has 


72        STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD  AND  FOREST. 

shut  up  its  little  red  eyelids ;  and  the  drooping  flowers 
of  the  field  and  the  garden  droop  more  heavily;  the 
amaryllis  and  the  day-lily  turn  their  delicate  heads  from 
the  wind,  and  the  wild  geranium  has  twisted  its  cap 
sules,  and  scattered  its  seeds,  as  if  endued  with  a  pre 
sentiment  of  the  approaching  rain,  and  cast  them  forth 
at  the  moment  most  favorable  to  their  germination. 
The  small  birds  have  discontinued  their  songs,  and  fly 
about  restlessly,  as  if  they  were  undetermined  what  to 
do,  or  perceived  some  secret  cause  of  alarm.  Bees  fly 
only  short  distances  from  their  hives,  and  return  soon. 
All  insects  are  more  than  usually  restive,  except  the 
spider  who  mopes  in  his  den  and  seems  half  torpid. 
The  toads  have  come  out  from  their  retreats  in  multi 
tudes,  and  unlike  other  animals,  hop  about  in  awkward 
merriment,  as  if  they  expected  some  gift  from  the  skies. 
Last  of  all  the  east  wind  rolls  the  billows  ashore,  and 
the  swinging  roar  of  the  waves  may  be  heard  respond 
ing  to  the  signals  tha't  have  appeared  simultaneously 
over  all  the  earth  and  the  heavens. 

Not  only  do  certain  animals  utter  unusual  sounds  in 
that  state  of  the  atmosphere,  that  indicates  the  approach 
of  rain ;  but  all  distant  sounds  are  heard  more  distinctly 
than  usual,  because  the  atmosphere,  when  full  of 
moisture,  becomes  a  more  perfect  conductor.  In  these 
phenomena  we  observe  the  same  correspondences,  which 
I  have  already  noticed ;  and  when  the  clouds  are  thick 
ening  over  our  heads  and  the  moon  looks  down  upon 
her  shadows  softened  by  intervening  mists,  the  tolling 
of  distant  bells  is  heard  more  distinctly,  and  all  distant 
sounds  boom  more  audibly  over  the  plain.  The  roar  of 
the  waves  which  is  always  louder  before  a  storm,  on 
account  of  the  strong  winds  that  roll  them  more  heavily 
upon  the  beach,  would  be  more  audible  at  such  times 


WEATHER   SIGNS.  73 

without  any  increase  of  motion ;  for  not  only  is  the  air 
a  better  conductor  of  sound,  but  the  east  wind  bears  the 
sound  more  directly  to  our  ears. 

I  have  as  yet  treated  chiefly  of  the  signs  that  portend 
rain,  during  dry  weather.  The  signs  of  fair  weather 
during  rain  are  less  familiar  to  us,  because  our  opportu 
nities  for  observing  them  are  less  favorable.  We  can 
not  see  them  in  the  habits  of  flowers,  but  the  .lower  ani 
mals  are  commonly  affected  in  some  peculiar  manner, 
when  a  change  is  about  to  take  place.  While  man  is, 
for  the  most  part,  governed  by  his  own  reason  and  ob 
servation,  the  lower  animals  are  unconsciously  actuated 
by  a  wisdom  that  is  above  them,  and  which,  through 
the  medium  of  their  sensations,  guides  them  to  certain 
movements  often  attributed  to  a  prescience  that  does 
not  belong  to  them. 

On  the  approach  of  fair  weather,  the  cattle  leave  their 
shelters,  and  prefer  to  lie  in  the  open  field,  and  the 
sheep  seek  the  brow  of  the  hill,  because  they  are  gov 
erned  by  their  own  sense  of  comfort.  The  birds  which 
are  restless  and  unmusical  before  a  storm,  come  out  of 
their  retreats  after  it  has  passed  away,  and  if  the  state 
of  the  atmosphere  is  such  as  indicates  a  permanent 
change,  they  perceive  this  in  connection  with  the  pro 
tracted  light  of  day,  and  prolong  their  strains  to  a  com 
paratively  late  hour  in  the  evening.  Hence,  the  woods 
are  unusually  vocal  after  a  summer  shower,  unless  there 
are  other  showers  preparing  to  rise.  If  the  birds  sing 
at  this  critical  moment,  we  shall  not  fail  to  observe  the 
flies  in  great  numbers  hovering  in  the  beams  of  the  sun, 
and  swarms  of  gnats  whirling  round  in  a  sort  of  hollow 
column  or  vortex ;  as  the  moist  air  that  precedes  a  rain, 
scatters  them,  the  dryer  and  more  bracing  air  that  fol 
lows  it,  assembles  them  again  and  prompts  them  to 

7 


74  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

renew  their  gambols.  The  bats,  governed  in  their 
movements  by  these  increased  multitudes  of  insects, 
come  out  more  numerously  after  a  rain,  in  pursuit  of 
their  insect  prey. 

I  have  thus  far  made  an  attempt  to  show  the  harmo 
nious  relations  that  exist  between  those  different  natural 
phenomena  which  have  been  regarded  as  weather  signs; 
but  I  have  made  no  attempt  to  enumerate  their  details, 
which  are  too  numerous  for  an  essay  of  this  descrip 
tion.  The  more  we  study  these  relations,  the  more 
shall  we  be  delighted  with  a  science  that  is  constantly 
unveiling  some  new  mystery.  Every  step  we  take  in 
this  field  of  wonders,  reveals  new  truths  to  our  sight, 
not  perplexing  the  mind  with  doubts  and  inexplicable 
problems,  like  the  study  of  metaphysics,  but  making 
our  understanding  clear  with  every  step  in  our  progress, 
and  affording  us  the  pleasing  consciousness  that  we  are 
drawing  constantly  nearer  that  divine  temple  from, 
which  emanates  all  light  and  knowledge  and  beauty. 


XL 

COLORS  AND   FRAGRANCE    OF   FLOWERS. 


THE  colors,  forms,  and  fragrance  of  the  leaves  of 
plants,  and  of  their  flowers  and  fruit,  have  always  been 
a  subject  for  curious  philosophical  speculation,  and  a 
great  many  theories  have  been  advanced  to  explain 
their  uses  and  advantages.  The  Abbe  St.  Pierre,  who 
has  treated  the  subject  very  fully,  indulges  the  fancy 
that  nature,  in  all  these  things,  has  operatedVith  regard 
to  general  effects ;  and  this  idea  is  the  great  fundamen 
tal  error  upon  which  his  speculations  are  founded.  He 
describes  nature  as  working  with  reference  to  the  pro 
duction  of  a  beautiful  picture,  and  proceeds  upon  the 
hypothesis  that  she  covers  the  trees  and  shrubs  with 
beautiful  flowers  to  adorn  the  fields  and  please  the  sight 
of  man.  Such  ideas  may  be  occasionally  introduced 
into  one's  writings  as  pleasing  poetical  fancies,  but 
they  are  not  true  philosophy.  In  the  following  specula 
tions  I  proceed  upon  the  hypothesis,  that  in  every  thing 
which  nature  does  for  any  species  of  plant  or  animal, 
she  does  for  the  particular  advantage  of  the  individual 
or  the  species.  I  proceed  on  the  assumption  that  nature 
works,  in  all  that  has  reference  to  the  organization  of 
a  plant  or  an  animal,  solely  for  the  welfare  and  preser- 


76  STUDIES   IN  THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

vation  of  that  plant  or  animal,  and  their  respective 
species,  and  not  for  the  advantage  of  another ;  as  a  man 
builds  a  house  with  windows,  not  for  the  sake  of 
accommodating  the  sun,  but  for  the  sake  of  affording 
the  inhabitants  the  benefit  of  his  light.  If  we  observe 
that  a  certain  plant  bears  a  flower  with  beautiful  forms 
and  hues,  and  with  sweet  odors,  we  are  rational  in  sup 
posing  that  these  forms,  hues,  and  odors  are  given  it  for 
some  purpose  needful  to  itself  or  its  species;  and  not 
for  the  benefit  of  the  insects  that  may  thereby  be 
attracted  to  it,  nor  for  that  of  man,  whose  senses  may 
be  regaled  by  it.  They  are  an  indispensable  part  of 
nature's  arrangements  for  the  preservation  of  the  indi 
vidual  or  the  perpetuation  of  the  species,  and  for  these 
purposes  alone. 

The  honey  in  the  nectary  of  the  flower  is  a  part  of 
that  apparatus,  which,  in  connection  with  the  corolla 
and  the  essences  that  emanate  from  the  flower,  nature 
has  provided  for  the  perpetuation  of  the  species,  by 
securing  the  cooperation  of  insects  in  the  work  of  fertil 
izing  the  blossom.  But  the  honey  in  the  nectary  of  the 
flower,  though  placed  there  to  entice  the  bees  and  other 
insects,  is  not  designed  for  the  special  good  of  these 
insects,  but  to  cause  them  to  perform  an  act  of  special 
benefit  to  the  flower  or  the  plant.  The  honey  being 
placed  there,  nature  then  forms  the  bee  with  instru 
ments  for  obtaining  the  honey,  and  with  an  instinct 
that  guides  him  to  it.  But  she  places  no  burdens  on 
one  species  for  the  mere  benefit  of  another.  The  dif 
ferent  parts  of  the  flower  are  evidently  arranged  with 
reference  to  the  development  and  perfection  of  the 
seeds  and  fruit ;  and  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  the 
calyx,  the  corolla,  the  hues  and  fragrance  and  the  forms 
of  the  flower  are  all  aids  in  perfecting  the  seeds  and 


COLORS   AND    FRAGRANCE   OF   FLOWERS.  77 

fruit,  though  the  purpose  they  serve  be  not  so  apparent 
as  that  served  by  the  stamens  and  pistils.  As  I  have 
already  repeated,  the  nectaries  are  supplied  with  honey, 
that  the  insects,  attracted  by  it,  while  engaged  in  sip 
ping  its  sweets,  should  mix  the  pollen  of  the  flower 
upon  those  parts  which  require  to  be  fertilized  by  the 
dust  Could  the  work  of  fertilization  be  performed 
without  the  agency  of  the  insect,  the  honey  would  not 
be  placed  there  to  tempt  it  to  the  blossom  for  purposes 
that  must  be  mischievous  to  the  plant.  Nature  per 
forms  no  acts  from  mere  wantonness ;  every  creation 
has  some  design,  though  we  may  be  unable  to  find  it 
out 

It  may  be  objected  against  this  theory,  that  although 
it  might  apply  very  well  to  monoecious  and  dioecious 
flowers,  it  seems  altogether  unnecessary  for  flowers  that 
have  both  stamens  and  pistils.  In  the  case  of  the 
latter,  it  is  averred,  that  the  close  proximity  of  the  parts 
must  insure  the  fertilization  of  the  seed.  All  this  may 
be  granted  without  in  the  least  derogating  from  the 
necessity  of  the  cooperation  of  insects.  It  is  probable 
that  the  same  law  holds  among  plants  as  among  ani 
mals,  and  that  breeding  in  and  in  would  in  the  course 
of  time  be  fatal  to  any  species.  Nature  has  provided 
against  this  emergency  by  attracting  the  insect  to  the 
flower,  who  bears  the  pollen  of  one  perfect  flower,  to 
the  stigma  of  another  flower  of  the  same  species. 

As  the  season  advances,  the  insect  tribes  become 
more  and  more  numerous,  while  the  numbers  of  flowers 
are  diminished.  On  this  account  they  are  more  easily 
discovered,  and  require  the  aid  of  their  fragrance  in  a 
less  degree  to  attract  and  guide  the  insect  to  their  cups. 
Hence  the  autumnal  and  later  summer  flowers  have 
less  fragrance  than  those  of  spring  and  the  early  summer. 

7* 


78  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND    FOREST. 

But  after  the  autumn  has  reduced  the  numbers  of  the 
honey-sipping  insects,  it  might  be  expected  that  the 
flowers  should  again  become  sweet-scented  as  in  spring. 
I  have  observed  this  to  be  true  of  some  few  species,  as 
of  the  inconspicuous  spiral  flowers  of  the  neottia.  In 
the  autumn,  when  those  insects  abound  that  consume 
the  foliage  of  plants,  as  the  grasshopper  tribe,  many 
plants  are  defended  from  their  attacks  by  a  rank  herba- 
,ceous  smell,  that  emanates  from  their  leaves,  and  a  similar 
flavor  in  their  taste,  while  the  gaudy  flowers  of  the  same 
plants,  like  those  of  the  gerardia  and  the  thorn-apple 
.(stramonium)  invite  the  bee  to  their  blossoms.  I  believe 
it  is  an  error  to  consider  the  honey  of  the  flowers  of 
poisonous  plants  to  be  itself  poisonous.  Were  it  so, 
the  ends  of  nature  would  be  defeated,  as  the  insect 
attracted  by  it  would  be  killed  while  in  the  cup  of  the 
flower,  and  by  his  own  decay  cause  the  destruction  of 
.the  blossom.  Plants  which  have  a  medicated  leaf  are 
more  common  in  the  later  summer,  when  grasshoppers 
and  locusts  are  numerous,  by  which  they  might  be 
.devoured.  Nature  has  insured  the  preservation  of  the 
grasses,  which  are  devoured  both  by  insects  and  quad 
rupeds,  by  providing  them  with  the  means  of  multiply 
ing  by  their  roots,  which  are  secured  from  attack  by 
.growing  underground. 

But  nature  is  not  confined  to  one  expedient  for  pro 
moting  the  same  end.  She  sometimes  gives  a  sweet 
smell  to  the  whole  plant,  instead  of  confining  it  to  the 
.flower.  She  has  done  this  for  the  mint  tribe,  the  sweet 
briar,  and  the  myrtles.  These  odors  may  also  serve  the 
purpose  of  defending  them  from  the  grazing  and  brows 
ing  animals  and  the  herbivorous  insects.  It  will  be 
found  by  examining  the  characters  of  plants,  that 
.nature  does  not  entice  an  insect  or  any  other  creature  to 


COLORS    AND   FRAGRANCE    OF   FLOWERS.  79 

the  plant,  if  the  habit  of  such  insect  or  animal  be  to 
devour  it,  except  in  the  instances  of  fruits.  When  the 
plant  is  of  such  a  nature  that  it  would  be  destroyed  by 
the  loss  of  its  foliage,  the  new  growth  is  invariably  pro 
tected  by  thorns,  by  a  poisonous  quality  of  its  sap,  or 
by  a  strong  odor  or  acrid  taste,  which  respectively  guard 
it  from  the  attacks  of  insects  and  herbivorous  animals. 
Hence  the  apple,  the  pear,  the  hawthorn,  and  the  rose, 
whose  foliage  and  tender  branches  are  agreeable  and 
wholesome  to  animals,  are  protected  in  their  wild  state 
by  thorns.  The  peach,  the  plum,  and  the  cherry,  on 
the  contrary,  are  without  thorns,  and  nature  accordingly 
has  protected  them  from  the  ravages  of  insects  and 
animals,  by  infusing  a  bitter  and  poisonous  principle 
into  their  sap.  The  willow  and  its  kindred  tribes,  not 
so  well  protected  by  this  bitter  taste,  and  being  without 
a  poisonous  quality,  have  more  of  that  sort  of  vitality 
which  enables  them  to  recover  from  the  effects  of  severe 
browsing  at  any  season  of  the  year. 

There  is  another  fact  which  is  worthy  of  remark. 
When  the  fields  and  meadows  in  summer  are  full  of 
gaudy  flowers,  we  find  some  species  growing  in  the 
shade  of  woods,  and  under  the  cover  of  thick  shrubbery. 
Such  is  the  sweet  pyrola.  Nature  has  given  to  this 
delicate  flower,  that  hides  its  drooping  blossoms  under 
the  foliage  of  the  sweet  gale  and  the  panicled  andro- 
meda,  the  delicious  odor  of  cinnamon.  This  species  is 
white,  and  bears  its  flowers  in  a  spike  with  their  disk 
turned  downwards.  The  more  elegant  and  showy  flow 
ers  of  the  pyrola  umbellata,  on  the  other  hand,  which 
are  not  concealed  under  the  foliage  of  shrubs,  being 
more  conspicuous,  are  accordingly  deprived  of  the  fra 
grance  of  their  kindred  species.  The  same  principle  is 
extended  to  the  shrubs  ;  while  the  magnificent  clusters 


80  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

of  the  mountain  laurel  are  almost  without  scent, -the  less 
showy  and  white  flowers  of  the  azalea  are  very  fra 
grant.  Hence,  too,  the  Canadian  rhodora,  whose  brilliant 
lilac  flowers  are  rendered  more  conspicuous  by  appear 
ing  before  their  leaves  are  out,  is  less  odorous  than  the 
alder-leaved  clethra,  whose  blossoms  might  escape 
notice,  when  buried  under  the  mass  of  foliage  that  is 
peculiar  to  the  later  summer,  when  they  are  out. 

To  this  theory  there  is  an  apparent  exception  in  the 
flowers  of  the  grasses,  which  -are  neither  beautiful  nor 
odorous.  But  nature  has  formed  the  grasses  in  such  a 
manner  as  to  render  them  independent  of  the  services 
of  insects  for  promoting  their  fertilization.  She  has 
caused  them  to  spring  up  in  dense  masses,  and  elevated 
the  flowers  on  long  and  slender  stems,  which  are  readily 
moved  to  and  fro  by  the  winds,  and  constantly  brought 
into  contact  with  one  another.  To  render  this  process 
the  more  certain,  the  flowers  of  grasses  are  unprovided 
with  a  corolla,  which  would  interfere  with  this  amalga 
mating  process,  and  nature  has  suspended  the  powdery 
anthers  outside  of  the  glumes,  so  that  the  stamens  of 
one  flower  are  easily  brought  in  contact  with  the  poin- 
tals  of  others.  The  flower  of  the  grass,  which  is  with 
out  honey,  has  neither  the  fragrance  of  other  flowers, 
nor  its  beautiful  corolla,  which  would  serve  only  to 
guide  the  insect  to  a  dry  fountain,  and  to  an  object  that 
has  no  need  of  its  agency.  Nature  has  established 
other  agents  to  perform  these  services  for  the  grasses ; 
and  appointed  the  zephyrs  for  this  purpose,  who  dip 
their  pinions  into  the  farina  of  the  flowers,  and  fertilize 
them  while  sweeping  over  the  waving  field  in  their 
invisible  flight. 

The  hues,  the  fragrance,  a*nd  the  general  beauty  of  the 
flower  are  but  parts  of  an  apparatus  purposely  contrived 


COLORS   AND   FRAGRANCE   OF  FLOWERS.  81 

for  the  accomplishment  of  this  end.  The  honey  is 
placed  in  the  flower  for  no  other  purpose  but  to  attract 
the  insect.  The  fragrance  is  designed  to  spread  abroad 
into  the  atmosphere  something  that  shall  notify  the 
insect  of  the  presence  of  the  flower,  and  the  beauty  of 
its  form  and  the  splendor  of  its  hues  are  intended  to 
guide  the  insect  to  its  exact  location.  The  bee  has  just 
emerged  from  the  hive,  to  go  abroad  in  search  for  his 
honeyed  subsistence.  How  would  he  find  it,  if  the  flower 
had  neither  brilliancy  of  hues  nor  sweetness  of  scent? 
And  why  should  these  things  be  superadded  to  the 
flower  and  thereby  attract  the  insect  to  it,  if  the  insect 
be  in  no  way  serviceable  or  necessary  to  the  plant? 
On  coming  out  he  perceives  the  odor  of  the  sweet- 
scented  narcissus ;  but  this  odor  is  so  equally  diffused 
that  it  serves  only  to  detain,  not  to  guide  or  direct  him. 
While  flying  round  in  the  midst  of  the  perfumed  gales, 
the  beautiful  disk  of  the  flower,  with  its  white  corolla, 
and  its  purple  and  yellow  centre,  suddenly  attracts  his 
sight,  and  he  directs  his  course  immediately  to  its  de 
pository  of  sweets. 

The  flower  attracts  attention  both  by  its  colors  and 
its  forms,  which  are  almost  always  regular  and  geomet 
rical,  that  they  may  form  a  more  conspicuous  contrast 
with  the  herbage  around.  A  solitary  flower,  which  was 
not  conspicuous,  might  entirely  escape  the  sight  of  a 
multitude  of  insects,  even  if  it  was  highly  fragrant,  and 
its  obscurity  might  prove  fatal  to  the  continuance  of  its 
species.  Nature  has,  therefore,  taken  care,  by  a  great 
variety  of  arrangements,  to  avoid  any  such  accident.  I 
have  observed  that  the  wild  strawberry  blossoms  that 
grow  under  the  shade  of  bushes,  where  they  are  hidden 
from  the  sight  of  insects,  are  more  apt  to  prove  barren 


52  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

of  fruit,  than  those  of  the  same  species  that  grow  in  an 
open  field. 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  solitary  flowers  are  commonly 
more  beautiful  than  flowers  that  grow  in  clusters,  which 
are  rendered  conspicuous  by  their  aggregations.  For 
this  reason,  also,  drooping  flowers,  that  are  partly  con 
cealed  by  their  position,  are  more  fragrant  than  those  of 
kindred  species  that  are  upright.  There  is,  as  it  were, 
a  contention  between  the  plants  of  different  species  to 
display  the  greatest  attractions  to  the  fertilizing  insect. 
The  large  flower  of  the  dandelion,  placed  upon  the 
green  verdure  of  the  early  spring  meadow,  needs  no 
other  contrast,  besides  that  of  its  own  yellow  disk  with 
the  green  grass,  to  render  it  a  conspicuous  object.  The 
pansy,  on  the  other  hand,  being  a  smaller  flower,  com 
pensates  itself  by  assuming  a  beautiful  union  of  three 
colors,  yellow,  violet,  and  purple,  and  turns  its  disk  to 
the  sun,  not  to  receive  any  direct  benefit  from  his  rays, 
but  to  be  more  conspicuous,  by  the  reflected  light,  to 
the  insect  advancing  in  the  direction  of  the  rays. 
These  three  colors  combined  can  be  recognized  at  a 
greater  distance  than  any  one  of  the  colors  alone. 

I  have  remarked  that  flowers  commonly  assume  geo 
metrical  shapes,  as  contrasting  more  vividly  with  the 
general  irregular  forms  of  vegetation.  There  are  cer 
tain  plants,  like  the  orchids,  that  ure  remarkable  for 
assuming  the  shapes  of  insects,  that  serve  to  attract  the 
fertilizing  agent  by  holding  up  an  image  of  its  own 
features.  These  characters  are  said  to  resemble  those 
of  insects  which  are  indigenous  to  the  same  country. 
All  such  flowers  are  highly  perfumed,  and  richly  stored 
with  honey.  Other  flowers  are  furnished  with  con 
trivances  for  holding  the  insect  in  confinement  until  he 


COLORS  AND  FRAGRANCE  OF  FLOWERS.       83 

has  finished  his  work.  Such  is  the  Asclepias.  Certain 
small  insects  enter  the  flower,  and  descend  through  a 
sort  of  tube  into  a  chamber  containing  the  parts  of  fruc 
tification.  They  are  immediately  confined  there  by 
little  hairs  bristling  down  towards  the  base  of  the 
flower,  that  prevent  their  returning.  The  insect,  made 
restless  by  this  confinement,  moves  about  and  covers 
himself  writh  pollen.  The  flower  soon  fades,  when  he 
escapes,  bearing  this  pollen  to  another  flower,  and  pro 
ducing  a  cross  which  could  not  otherwise  be  effected. 

It  may  be  observed  that  the  most  gaudy  flowers  have 
in  general  the  least  odor;  for  just  in  proportion  as  they 
are  made  attractive  by  their  forms  and  by  the  splendor 
of  their  hues,  is  their  fragrance  less  needful  to  them. 
Accordingly,  white  flowers  are  generally  sweeter  than 
those  of  the  same  genus  which  are  highly  colored. 
The  white  daffodil  and  the  white  lily  are  the  sweetest 
of  their  respective  genera.  The  same  is  true  of  the 
white  tulip,  which  is,  I  believe,  always  fragrant.  Some 
of  the  most  powerful  odors  are  emitted  by  greenish, 
flowers,  like  those  of  the  ambrosia  and  mignonette,  of 
the  grape  vine,  and  of  many  of  the  amentaceous  trees 
and  shrubs.  With  respect  to  flowers  of  an  inconspicu 
ous  and  greenish  hue,  it  is  worthy  of  notice  that  they 
are  seldom  solitary,  but  grow  in  dense  clusters  or  spikes,, 
or  upon  trees  where  they  are  rendered  apparent  as  a 
part  of  the  tree  that  bears  them.  In  this  way,  also,  we 
may  account  for  the  fact  that  the  flowers  of  trees  are 
not,  in  general,  so  beautiful  as  those  which  grow  upon 
the  ground,  since  the  elevated  position  of  the  former 
causes  them  to  be  more  readily  discovered  by  the  insect. 
The  flowers  of  twining  plants,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
the  largest  in  existence.  Their  habit  of  creeping  about 
under  the  shade  of  trees  and  shrubs,  places  them  in 


84        STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD  AND  FOREST. 

comparative  obscurity.  Nature  compensates  them  by 
giving  them  a  large  and  attractive  flower,  or  one  that  is 
very  sweetly  scented.  The  vines  of  the  squash  and  the 
pumpkin,  whose  broad  leaves  might  conceal  their 
flowers,  bear  them  of  extraordinary  size ;  and  the  pas 
sion-flower  is  formed  with  the  most  beautiful  arrange 
ment  of  parts  and  variety  of  colors  to  render  it  con 
spicuous.  The  same  is  true,  in  a  less  degree,  of  the 
convolvulus  and  the  bignonia.  The  Mexican  vine  and 
some  of  the  honeysuckles,  on  the  contrary,  having  less 
conspicuous  flowers,  receive  their  compensation  by 
being  endowed  with  an  extraordinary  amount  of  fra 
grance. 

There  are  certain  trees  that  bear  solitary  flowers  wide 
ly  separated  from  one  another.  These  are  either  very 
gaudy  like  those  of  the  tulip  trees,  or  very  sweet  like 
those  of  the  magnolia.  Nature  has  likewise  adapted 
the  colors  of  flowers  to  their  situations.  Thus  we  find 
the  flowers  that  grow  in  the  shade  of  woods  are  mostly 
white,  while  those  that  stand  out  in  the  open  field  often 
have  dark  hues,  which  would  be  indistinguishable  under 
the  shade  of  the  forest.  The  flowers  of  most  of  the 
fruit  trees  are  white,  mixed  with  shades  of  crimson ; 
but  as  white  forms  a  more  conspicuous  contrast  with 
green  than  with  the  naked  branches  of  the  trees,  those 
trees  and  shrubs  that  produce  their  flowers  before  the 
leaves  are  usually  pink  or  crimson.  Such  are  those  of 
the  peach  and  the  almond,  while  the  white  blossoms  of 
the  pear  and  the  cherry  do  not  appear  until  the  foliage 
is  out,  and  open  at  the  same  time  with  it.  The  blos 
soms  of  the  apple-tree,  which  appear  simultaneously 
with  the  development  of  their  leaves,  are  crimson  be 
fore  they  are  opened,  when  the  leaves  are  yet  unex- 
panded,  but  grow  white  when  the  flowers  are  fully 


COLORS   AND   FRAGRANCE   OF   FLOWERS.  85 

opened  on  the  groundwork  of  the  ripely  developed 
foliage.  The  Canadian  rhodora  and  the  proeumbent 
azalea,  which  are  crimson,  bear  their  flowers  before  the 
leaves,  while  the  white  azalea  appears  only  after  the  full 
maturity  of  its  foliage. 

Most  of  the  water-lilies  are  white :  but  white,  if  it 
were  planted  upon  the  pure  glassy  surface  of  the  water, 
would  not  be  very  discernible,  as  the  water  which  in 
one  position  is  blue,  in  another  is  white.  But  the 
white  water-lilies  are  always  expanded  on  a  smooth 
green  carpet  formed  by  their  broad  flat  foliage,  so  that 
the  white  flowers  are  contrasted  with  the  verdure  of  this 
surface  of  leaves,  and  not  with  the  white  or  blue  surface 
of  the  water.  The  saracenia,  on  the  contrary,  that  sus 
pends  its  nodding  flowers  over  the  shallow  waters  of  the 
lake  shore,  reflecting  sometimes  the  'blue  of  the  sky, 
and  sometimes  the  whiteness  of  the  clouds,  is  made 
conspicuous  by  the  sobriety  of  its  colors.  Its  dark 
chocolate  and  purple  hues  render  it  discernible  at  a 
great  distance,  rising  out  of  the  shallow  and  reedy 
waters. 

There  are  other  colors  of  vegetation,  besides  those  of 
the  flowers,  for  which  a  reason  and  a .  purpose  are  not 
so  easily  assigned.  The  purpose  served  by  the  green 
ness  of  the  foliage  of  all  or  nearly  all  plants  may  not 
be  a  single  one.  It  seems  to  me  not  improbable  that 
nature  has  selected  it  as  a  groundwork  upon  which  the 
flowers  are  rendered  more'  conspicuous  than  they  could 
be  rendered  by  any  other  color.  Of  this  fact  the 
makers  of  bouquets  are  fully  aware.  A  .  few  flowers, 
placed  on  a  background  of  green  foliage,  make  a  better 
show  than  a  whole  bunch  of  the  brightest  flowers  with 
out  any  such  opposition.  No  other  color  can  be 
selected  that  could  so  well  answer  this  purpose. 


86  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

Nature,  for  this  reason,  has  adopted  it  to  render  the 
flowers,  by  opposition,  more  discernible  by  the  insects, 
whose  agency  is  required  in  their  fertilization. 

The  primary  object  of  nature,  however,  in  giving 
this  hue  to  the  foliage  of  vegetation,  is  probably  the 
adaptedness  of  a  green  color  to  promote  that  degree 
and  kind  of  absorption  of  light  which  is  necessary  for 
the  oxygenating  process,  carried  on  by  the  leaves  or  the 
lungs  of  the  plant.  Our  knowledge  of  vital  chemistry 
is  not  yet  sufficient  to  enable  us  to  assign  the  peculiar 
action  of  the  green  color  of  the  leaf  upon  the  juices  of 
the  vegetable.  Green  is  probably  that  medium  tint 
which  is  most  favorable  to  the  moderate  action  of  the 
sun's  rays,  which  would  be  too  powerful  as  generators 
of  heat  in  a  darker  colored  leaf,  or  as  generators  of 
oxygen  in  the  lighter  colored  one. 


XII. 

APRIL. 


THERE  are  pleasurable  emotions  awakened  by  the  re 
turn  of  spring,  unfelt  at  any  other  season  of  the  year, 
and  resembling  those  we  might  be  supposed  to  experi 
ence  upon  a  renewal  of  our  youth.  We  certainly  feel 
younger  and  more  hopeful  at  this  season  than  in  the 
autumn ;  and  we  look  back  upon  the  lapse  of  the  three 
winter  months,  with  a  less  realizing  sense  of  the  loss  of 
so  much  of  our  allotted  period  of  life,  than  upon  the 
lapse  of  the  three  summer  months.  The  flight  of  either 
season  carries  us  equally  onward  in  our  mortal  progress  ; 
yet  we  cannot  avoid  the  feeling  that  seems  to  convince 
us  that  the  lapse  of  winter  is  our  gain,  as  the  lapse  of 
summer  was  our  loss.  And  surely  of  these  two  feel 
ings,  the  one  that  deceives  is  better  than  the  one  that 
utters  the  truth ;  and  though  we  are  several  months 
older  than  we  were  in  the  autumn,  we  may  thank 
heaven  for  the  delusion  that  makes  us  feel  younger. 

The  spring,  which  is  the  best  season  for  action  and 
enjoyment,  may  be  regarded  as  unfavorable  to  contem 
plation.  So  many  delightful  objects  are  constantly, in 
viting  us  to  pleasure,  that  the  mind  is  tempted  to  neg 
lect  its  serious  pursuits,  and  we  feel  too  much  exhilara- 


88        STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD  AND  FOREST. 

tion  for  business  or  study.  It  is  not  while  surrounded 
by  pleasures  of  any  kind,  that  we  are  most  capable  of 
reflecting  upon  them,  or  describing  their  influence;  as 
the  act  of  thinking  upon  them  requires  a  temporary 
suspension  of  our  enjoyments.  Hence  in  winter  we 
can  most  easily  describe  the  charms  of  spring,  when 
'  the  task  becomes  a  pleasing  occupation,  by  reviving  the 
scenes  of  recollected  nature,  and  thus  affording  us  a 
retrospective  joy,  blended  with  a  foretaste  of  that  which 
is  to  come.  But  when  the  rising  flowers,  the  perfumed 
breezes,  and  the  music  of  the  animated  tenants  of  the 
streams,  woods,  and  orchards,  are  all  inviting  one  to 
come  forth  and  partake  of  the  pleasures  they  proffer,  it 
is  difficult  to  sit  down,  apart  from  these  delights,  to  the 
comparatively  dull  task  of  describing  them. 

Spring  is,  therefore,  the  inspiring  season  of  enterprise, 
rather  than  of  poetry,  as  instead  of  telling  of  joys  that 
are  past,  it  unfolds  the  promise  of  future  happiness.  It 
is  not  the  season  of  thought,  inasmuch  as  it  is  not  the 
occasion  of  melancholy  and  retrospection.  It  is  the 
time  for  the  lover  of  nature  to  collect  his  observations, 
to  improve  his  taste  for  the  beauties  that  are  spread  be 
fore  him,  and  to  partake  of  the  entertainment  that  is 
provided  for  him ;  but  winter  is  the  season  for  reflecting 
upon  these  observations,  and  for  descanting  on  pleas 
ures  that  are  past.  In  autumn,  likewise,  we  cast  mel 
ancholy  and  wishful  thoughts  back  upon  the  beautiful 
months  that  have  just  fled,  with  feelings  more  alive  to 
their  charms  than  when  they  were  present  with  us,  ren 
dering  every  circumstance  and  every  effort  of  the  mind 
agreeable,  that  serves  to  revive  them  distinctly  in  our 
memory.  Thus  during  the  absence  of  friends,  we  be 
come  more  sensible  of  the  happiness  their  presence 


89 

afforded  us;  of  the  value  of  their  friendship,  the  charms 
of  their  society,  and  the  dreariness  of  separation. 

As  childhood  is  not  always  happy,  the  spring  is  not 
always  cheerful ;  and  as  youth  is  sometimes  visited  with 
the  sorrows  and  afflictions  of  later  life,  the  vernal  skies 
are  sometimes  blackened  with  wintry  tempests,  and  the 
earth  bound  up  with  ices  and  frost.  Even  in  the  month 
of  April,  the  little  flowers  that  are  just  peeping  forth 
from  their  winter  coverts,  are  often  greeted  with  snow 
as  well  as  sunshine.  The  chilly  breezes  from  the  ocean 
are  likewise  a  constant  source  of  discomfort  to  the 
dwellers  on  the  coast.  Yet  with  all  these  cheerless 
winds,  April  is,  in  general,  a  delightful  month,  and  the 
annoyance  of  the  sea-breezes  is  hardly  felt,  except  by 
invalids,  or  those  who  have  been  enervated  by  confine 
ment.  An  east  wind  is  not  without  its  advantages  to 
the  laboring  man  or  the  pedestrian.  When  accompa 
nied  with  sunshine,  this  is  the  only  wind  that  is  of  such 
an  equable  temperature  as  to  admit  of  brisk  exercise  in. 
the  open  air  at  all  times  and  seasons,  without  suffering 
from  the  extremes  of  cold  or  heat. 

The  ices  which  have  bound  the  earth  for  half  the  year 
.are  at  length  dissolved;  the  mountain  snows  are  spread 
out  in  fertilizing  lakes  upon  the  plains,  and  the  whole 
vegetable  world  is  awakening  to  a  new  and  beautiful 
resurrection.  The  crocus,  the  snowdrop,  and  the  yellow 
daffodil  are  already  blojoming  in  the  gardens  ;  the  early 
blue  violet  spangles  the  southern  slopes  of  the  pastures, 
the  vernal  saxifrage  crowns  the  mossy  surfaces  of  the 
rocky  hills,  and  here  and  there  may  be  found  a  delicate 
blossom  of  the  early  anemone,  in  the  sunny  places  in 
the  oaken  woods.  The  barren  hills  are  velveted  with 
mosses  of  a  perfect  greenness,  delicately  shaded  with  a 
profusion  of  glossy  brown  stems,  like  so  many  hairs, 

8* 


90  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

terminating  with  the  peculiar  flower  of  the  plant ;  and 
long  stripes  of  verdure  are  interspersed  among  the  gray 
rocks  and  seared  vegetation,  marking  the  progress  of 
the  little  rivulets,  as  they  pursue  their  irregular  course 
down  the  hill-side  into  the  valleys.  The  lowlands,  so 
magnificent  in  autumn,  when  covered  with  the  flowers 
of  the  purple  aster  and  the  golden  coreopsis,  are  now 
mostly  covered  with  a  sheet  of  glistening  waters,  put 
into  constant  agitation  by  the  multitudes  of  frogs  that 
are  tumbling  about  in  the  shallows,  as  they  are  engaged 
in  their  croaking  frolics. 

If  you  wander,  after  the  middle  of  the  month,  along 
the  alluvial  borders  of  the  streams,  you  may  discover 
the  newly  risen  flowers  of  the  fetid  hellebore,  (Ictodes 
fcetidus,)  the  greatest  vegetable  curiosity  of  the  season, 
resembling  some  monster  with  a  spotted  helmet,  just 
peeping  his  head  above  the  surface  of  the  earth.  It  is 
a  medicinal  herb ;  has  a  dragonlike  aspect  when  it  first 
appears,  and  conceals  its  flowers,  which  are  curious  and 
not  inelegant,;  beneath  a  blood-stained  hood,  strongly 
marked  with  green  and  purple.  In  similar  situations 
you  may  find  the  elegantly  mottled  leaves  of  the  dog 
tooth  violet,  the  American  erythronium  ;  and,  if  the 
season  be  forward,  its  beautiful  lilylike  flowers,  nod 
ding  as  if  it  were  dangerous  to  exhibit  a  full  view  of 
their  charms,  and  hiding  their  heads  beneath  the  broad 
leaves  which,  at  a  distance,  are  the  only  conspicuous 
parts  of  the  plant 

The  odors  that  perfume  the  atmosphere  in  early 
spring  are  chiefly  exhaled  from  the  flowering  trees  and 
shrubs  ;  in  summer  they  proceed  from  the  herbage  and 
flowers  that  cover  the  surface  of  the  earth.  Many 
trees  and  shrubs  are  already  in  blossom ;  but  a  whole 
month  will  elapse  before  the  green  fields  will  be  brightly 


APRIL.  91 

gemmed  with  flowers.  The  red  maple  is  clothed  in  a 
full  drapery  of  crimson,  exhibiting  in  April  as  in  Octo 
ber,  the  most  gorgeous  spectacle  in  the  forest.  Several 
species  of  willows  are  elegantly  festooned  with  tassels 
that  hang  like  fringe  from  every  twig;  the  aments  of 
some  species  being  of  a  silvery  whiteness,  and  covered 
with  silken  down,  and  others  of  a  bright  golden  hue. 
The  Balm  of  Gilead  and  other  poplars,  while  the  scales 
are  dropping  from  their  hybernacles,  to  loose  the  young 
flowers  from  their  confinement,  afford  the  most  grateful 
.of  all  odors,  combining  the  sweetness  of 'the  rose  with 
the  terebinthine  odors  of  the  pine,  and  causing  the 
vernal  gales  of  our  landscape  to  rival  the  spicy  breezes 
of  Arabia.  But  there  are  exhalations  that  spring  from 
the  soil  itself,  at  this  time  of  the  year,  that  afford  an 
agreeable  sensation  of  freshness,  almost  like  fragrance, 
and  resembling  the  scent  of  the  cool,  refreshing  sea- 
breezes,  which,  wafted  over  beds  of  rockweed  and  other 
sea  plants,  when  the  tide  is  low,  often  rise  up  suddenly 
in  the  heat  of  summer. 

Though  the  tassel-bearing  trees  and  shrubs,  from  the 
graceful  willow  down  to  the  humble  tribes  of  hazels 
and  Dutch  myrtles,  are  the  principal  flowering  plants  of 
the  present  month,  yet  as  the  season  advances,  several 
species  of  small  flowers,  anticipating  the  arrival  of  May, 
will  often  add  their  beauty  to  the  floral  garland  of 
April.  The  coltsfoot  already  spangles  the  fallow  tillage 
lands  and  neglected  gardens,  with  its  yellow  compound 
flowers,  just  before  the  coming  of  the  dandelion,  of 
which  it  is  a  miniature  likeness  ;  the  gill,  with  its  whorls 
of  minute,  lip-shaped  blossoms,  of  a  bright  blue,  may 
soon  be  seen,  under  the  shade  of  the  fences  and  shrub 
bery,  and  many  other  plants,  not  yet  in  flower,  exhibit 
their  rising  tufts  of  green  leaves,  about  the  fields  and 


92  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

by-ways.  In  the  woods,  the  white  starlike  flowers  of 
the  goldthread  are  glittering  among  the  evergreen 
leaves  that  have  just  escaped  from  their  long  burial  in 
the  snows  ;  and  in  the  fertile  meadows,  the  bloodroot, 
worthy  of  a  better  name,  sends  up  its  delicate  clusters 
of  white  flowers,  under  the  protection  of  the  leafless 
trees  and  shrubbery. 

The  student  of  nature,  during  the  present  month, 
must  carefully  observe  the  weather-signs,  before  he  ven 
tures  far  from  the  shelter  of  a  roof,  especially  when  the 
south  wind  is  blowing.  The  most  tempting  weather, 
on  account  of  impending  showers,  is  the  most  danger 
ous.  When  the  gales  are  breathing  gently  from  the 
south,  laden  with  the  spicy  odors  of  the  more  forward 
vegetation  of  southern  groves  and  orchards,  we  are 
tempted,  by  the  balmy  sweetness  and  grateful  warmth 
of  the  atmosphere,  to  take  no  note  of  distance  in  our 
excursions.  We  forget'  every  thing  in  the  world  but 
the  sensations  derived  from  the  odors,  the  soft  breezes, 
and  the  wood-notes,  all  mingled  together  in  a  sort  of 
delirious  confusion ;  and  we  become  too  deeply  intoxi 
cated  with  pleasure,  to  think  upon  the  lapse  of  minutes 
and  hours,  or  of  the  dull  business  that  may  call  us  home 
ward.  In  the  mean  time,  the  clouds  imperceptibly 
thicken  overhead,  and  while  one  is  still  a  mile  from  any 
shelter,  save  that  of  the  pine  wood,  that  can  avail  one 
only  during  a  momentary  shower,  the  rain  begins  to 
pour  down  with  violence,  and  awakens  him  from  his 
pleasing  re  very,  to  a  realizing  sense  of  discomfort  and 
solitude,  I  have  frequently  been  thus  overtaken  in  my 
rambling  excursions,  and  when  completely  drenched 
with  rain,  after  a  delightful  tour,  I  have  thought  I  could 
realize  the  misery,  which  the  man  of  pleasure  must 
experience,  when  suddenly  reduced  from  a  condition  of 


APRIL.  93 

wealth  and  luxury,  to  one  of  shame,  poverty,  and  wretch 
edness. 

The  landscape,  though  not  yet  clothed  with  leaves 
and  verdure,  is  already  awake  with  the  revival  of  the 
animated  creation.'  The  little  familiar  bluebirds  are 
busy  among  the  hollows  of  old  trees,  where  they  rear 
their  offspring,  secure  from  the  depredation  of  foes. 
Multitudes  of  them,  seen  usually  in  pairs  and  seldom  in 
flocks,  are  scattered  over  the  orchards,  responding  to 
each  other,  in  their  few  plaintive,  but  cheerful  notes ; 
and  their  azure  plumage  is  beautifully  conspicuous, 
as  they  flit  among  the  naked  branches  of  the  trees. 
The  voice  of  the  robin  resounds  in  all  familiar  places,  and 
the  song  of  the  linnet  is  heard  in  the  groves  which  have 
lately  echoed  but  with  the  scream  of  the  jay  and  the 
cawing  of  the  raven.  Young  lambs,  but  lately  ushered 
into  life,  may  be  seen,  with  various  antic  motions,  try 
ing  the  use  of  those  limbs,  that  seem  to  run  wild  with 
them,  before  they  have  hardly  ascertained  their  powers  ; 
and  parties  of  little  children,  some  with  baskets,  em 
ployed  in  gathering  salads,  others  busied  in  picking  the 
red  fruit  of  the  partridge  berry,  will  often  pause  from 
their  labors  with  delight,  to  watch  the  friskings  of  these 
happy  creatures. 

The  little  insects  that  whirl  about  on  the  surface  of 
the  still  waters,  have  commenced  their  gambols  anew, 
and  fishes  are  again  seen  darting  about  in  the  streams. 
A  few  butterflies,  companions  of  the  early  spring  flow 
ers,  are  flitting  in  irregular  courses  over  the  plains,  the 
spider  is  seen  hanging  by  its  invisible  thread,  from  the 
twigs  of  the  orchard  trees,  and  insects  of  various  species 
are  swarming  in  sunny  places.  The  leaves  of  the  last 
autumn,  disinterred  from  underneath  the  snow,  are  once 


94        STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD  AND  FOREST. 

more  rustling  to  the  winds  and  to  the  leaping  motions 
of  the  squirrel.  Small  tortoises  may  be  seen  basking 
in  the  sunshine,  upon  the  logs  that  extend  into  the 
ditches,  and  as  we  draw  near,  we  see  their  glistening 
armor,  as  with  awkward  haste  they  plunge  into  the 
water.  The  ices  which  had  accumulated  on  the  flats 
of  the  sea-shore,  have  entirely  disappeared;  and  the 
little  fishes,  that  congregate  about  the  edges  of  the  salt 
water  creeks,  already  make  -a  tremulous  motion  of  the 
waters,  as  upon  our  sudden  approach,  they  dart'  away 
from  the  shallows  into  the  deeper  sea. 

The  sun  has  sunk  below  the  belt  of  the  horizon. 
The  wind  is  still,  and  the  countless  lakes  that  cover  the 
meadows  which  will  soon  be  waving  with  grass,  reflect 
from  their  mirrored  surfaces  a  perfect  image  of  every 
bird  and  cloud  that  floats  above  them.  The  bright- 
eyed  evening  star  now  shines  alone.  The  lowing  of 
cattle  is  heard  only  at  intervals  from  the  farm  yards  ; 
and  the  occasional  sound  of  distant  bells  is  borne 
softly  in  the  hush  of  day's  decline.  The  birds  are 
silent  in  the  woods,  save  now  and  then  a  solitary  one, 
that  greeted  perhaps  by  a  lingering  sunbeam,  reflected 
from  a  radiant  cloud,  will  sing  a  few  twittering  notes 
of  welcome.  But  nature  is  not  silent.  The  notes  of 
a  countless  myriad  of  little  piping  musicians,  rise  in  a 
delightfully  swelling  chorus,  from  every  lake  and  stream, 
now  loudening  with  an  increased  multitude  of  voices, 
then  gradually  dying  away  into  a  momentary  silence. 
These  sounds  are  the  charm  of  an  April  evening,  and 
in  my  early  days  I  used  to  listen  to  them  with  more 
pleasure  than  to  the  sweetest  strains  of  music,  as  pro 
phetic  of  the  reviving  beauties  of  nature.  And  now, 
when  the  first  few  piping  notes  fall  upon  rny  ear,  my 


APRIL.  95 

mind  is  greeted  by  a  vision  of  dearly  remembered  joys, 
that  crowd  vividly  upon  the  memory.  These  tender 
recollections,  blended  with  the  hopes  and  anticipations 
of  spring,  serve  with  all  other  attributes  of  the  season, 
to  tranquillize  the  mind  and  render  it  cheerful  arid  sat 
isfied  with  the  world. 


.    XIII. 

THE    VERNAL    FLOWERS. 


IN  our  climate  we  seldom  realize,  during  the  months 
of  April  and  May,  that  pleasant  temperature  which  is 
supposed  to  characterize  the  vernal  season  of  the  year. 
The  earth  is  often  covered  with  snow  until  the  first  of 
April,  and  the  weather  is  too  cold  for  vegetation  before 
the  middle  of  the  month.  The  progress  of  the  year  is 
retarded  by  the  prevalence  of  north-easterly  winds,  and 
the  icebergs  that  float  down  from  the  Arctic  seas  infuse 
a  chill  into  our  atmosphere,  long  after  the  sun  has 
brought  out  the  early  flowers,  and  arrayed  the  whole 
wilderness  in  blossoms.  The  vernal  flowers  of  our 
climate  do  not  begin  to  appear  before  the  middle  of 
April,  except  in  extraordinary  seasons,  and  many  of 
them,  retarded  by  the  protracted  chills  from  the  ocean, 
continue  to  deck  the  fields  until  they  are  suddenly 
brought  to  maturity  by  the  hot  summer  sun.  It  is  not 
unusual  for  the  whole  month  of  April  to  pass  away 
without  producing  more  than  two  or  three  species  of 
wild  flowers  ;  and,  on  May-day,  the  youths  and  maidens 
are  often  obliged  to  abandon  their  search  for  flowers, 
and  to  crown  their  young  queen  with  a  simple  wreath 
of  evergreens. 


EARLY  FLOWERS.  97 

Among  the  vernal  flowers  are  usually  classed  all 
those,  which,  in  propitious  seasons,  are  expanded  dur 
ing  the  months  of  April  and  May,  and  mostly  become 
extinct  before  the  days  have  obtained  their  greatest 
length.  Within  this  period  the  most  delicate  and  in 
teresting  flowers  of  the  whole  year  come  to  perfection, 
commencing  with  the  anemones  and  violets,  that  bring 
along  in  their  rear  whole  myriads  of  bellworts,  cornels, 
ginsengs,  saxifrages,  and  columbines,  until  the  proces 
sion  is  closed  by  the  wild  geranium,  that  leads  on  the 
still  more  brilliant  host  of  summer.  The  vernal  flowers 
are  mostly  herbaceous  and  minute.  They  grow  in 
sheltered  situations,  on  the  southern  slopes  of  declivities 
or  the  sunny  borders  of  a  wood,  and  require  but  a  short 
period  of  heat  and  sunshine  to  perfect  their  blossoms. 
They  are  generally  pale  in  their  tints,  many  of  them 
white,  but  commonly  tinged  with  delicate  shades  of 
blue  or  lilac.  The  anemones  of  our  fields  are  true 
vernal  flowers,  and  there  is  hardly  a  solitary  one  to  be 
seen  after  the  middle  of  June.  Such,  also,  are  the 
most  of  the  violets,  the  bellworts,  and  the  Solomon's 
seals.  There  are  some  spring  flowers,  however,  that 
remain  in  bloom  during  a  great  part  of  summer,  until 
they  lose  all  their  charms  by  constantly  intruding  them 
selves  upon  our  notice.  Such  are  the  common  butter 
cups,  which  are  favorites  with  children  when  they  first 
appear^  but  shine  like  gilded  toys,  and  symbolize  no- 
charming  sentiment  to  endear  them  to  our  sight. 

The  anemones,  on  the  other  hand,  present  in  their 
habits  and  appearance  emblems  of  many  tender  and 
poetic  images.  One  of  the  earliest  of  these  to  be 
found  in  our  woods  is  the  liverwort,  (hepatica  triloba,) 
appearing  on  the  sunny  slope  of  a  hill  that  is  protected 
by  woods,  and  continuing  to  put  forth  its  delicate 

9 


98  STUDIES   IN  THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

blossoms  during  a  period  of  six  weeks.  These  are  the 
flowers  which  have  generally  rewarded  my  earliest 
botanical  rambles,  and  every  year  I  behold  them  with 
increased  delight.  They  are  often  seen  in  crowded 
clusters,  half  concealed  by  some  dry  oak  leaves,  that 
were  elevated  by  the  flowers  as  they  sprang  up  from 
the  bosom  of  the  earth.  They  vary  in  color,  from  a 
dark  purple  and  lilac,  to  lighter  shades  of  the  same  tints. 
Appearing  in  clusters  that  often  contain  more  than 
twenty  flowers,  they  form  a  pleasing  contrast  with  the 
little  wood  anemone  that  spangles  the  mossy  knolls 
with  its  solitary  drooping  blossoms,  scattered  somewhat 
evenly  over  the  green  surface.  While  we  admire  the 
splendor  and  elegance  of  the  liverwort  in  clusters  of 
various  shades,  some  purple  or  lilac,  some  of  a  pale 
blue,  and  others  white,  the  wood  anemones  are  still 
more  charming,  on  account  of  their  expression  of  meek 
ness  and  delicacy.  The  rue-leaved  anemone  differs 
from  each  of  these.  More  lively  in  its  appearance  than 
either,  it  bears  several  upright  flowers  upon  one  stalk, 
with  such  a  look  of  cheerfulness  that  they  seem  almost 
to  smile  upon  us  from  their  green  shady  nooks. 

Not  the  least  charming  of  our  vernal  flowers  is  one,  • 
which  having  no  standard  English  name,  is  known  by 
a  different  appellation  in  almost  every  place.  This 
flower  is  the  Houstonia  ccerulea.  It  sometimes  appears 
in  the  latter  part  of  April;  but,  in  this  vicinity,  its 
blossoms  are  closely  identified  with  the  month  of  May, 
when  they  are  so  thickly  strown  over  the  fields,  as,  at  a 
distance,  to  resemble  a  flight  of  snow  spread  lightly 
over  the  green  pastures.  The  whole  plant  is  almost  as 
delicate  as  the  finer  mosses ;  and  the  flowers,  though 
minute,  are  rendered  conspicuous  by  the  brilliant  golden 
hue  of  their  centre,  that  melts  imperceptibly  into  the 


EARLY   FLOWERS.  99 

azure  whiteness  of  the  corolla.  The  houstonia  has 
sometimes  been  called  starwort,  a  name  that  corre 
sponds  very  justly  with  its,  general  habits  and  appear 
ance.  In  April  one  or  two  solitary  flowers  of  this 
species  may  be  seen  peeping  out  from  the  green  herbage, 
as  in  early  evening  a  few  stars  are  seen  twinkling 
through  the  diminishing  light.  These  continue  to  mul 
tiply,  until  they  glitter  in  the  meads  and  valleys  like  the 
heavenly  host  at  midnight;  and  then  by  degrees  they 
slowly  disappear,  until  June  scatters  them  from  the 
face  of  the  earth,  as  morning  melts  away  the  starry 
lights  in  the  firmament. 

It  may  seem  remarkable  that  the  earliest  spring 
flowers  that  corne  up  under  a  frosty  sky,  and  are  often 
enveloped  in  snow,  should,  notwithstanding  this  appar 
ently  hardening  exposure,  exceed  almost  all  others  in 
delicacy.  Such  are  the  anemones,  the  houstonia,  and 
the  bellwort,  among  our  indigenous  plants,  and  such 
the  crocus,  the  snowdrop,  and  the  lily  of  the  valley, 
among  the  exotics.  The  spring  flowers  are  likewise, 
for  the  most  part,  more  powerfully  and  more  sweetly 
scented  than  those  of  other  seasons.  Even  the  aments 
that  hang  from  the  willow,  the  poplar,  and  the  sweet- 
fern,  are  more  fragrant  than  the  aments  of  the  oak,  the 
beech,  and  the  chestnut,  which  appear  a  month  later. 
The  sweet-scented  vernal  grass,  (anthoxanthum  odora- 
tum,)  one  of  our  earliest  grasses,  is  exceeded  by  no 
species  in  fragrance.  Many  of  the  small  flowers  of 
spring  that  seem,  when  examined  singly,  to  be  nearly 
scentless,  are  found  to  be  very  fragrant  when  collected 
into  bunches.  I  have  observed  this  fact  of  some  of  the 
violets,  of  the  two-leaved  Solomon's  seal,  and  some 
other  small  flowers.  Though  we  cannot  regard  their 
superior  fragrance  as  an  unexceptionable  trait  in  the 


100  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

character  of  the  spring  flowers,  yet,  as  the  season  ad 
vances,  the  blossoms  of  plants  become  less  and  less 
fragrant,  until  the  fields  of  autumn  display  their  myr 
iads  of  gaudy  flowers,  that  give  out  scarcely  a  percep 
tible  odor. 

In  this  phenomenon  I  think  I  can  detect  one  of  those 
mysterious  provisions  of  nature,  which  are  instituted  for 
the  preservation  of  the  species.  All  flowers  seem  to 
depend  more  or  less  upon  insects  as  agents  in  the  work 
of  their  fertilization.  In  early  spring,  when  there  are 
but  few  insects  abroad,  they  might  not  be  able  to  dis 
cover  the  flowers,  if  the  latter  did  not  send  out  into  the 
atmosphere  a  strong  and  agreeable  perfume,  by  which 
the  insect  is  guided  to  their  honey  cups.  The  insect 
having  entered  the  cup  of  the  flower,  while  engaged  in 
sipping  sweets  from  the  nectaries,  mixes  the  pollen  upon 
the  stigma,  by  the  motions  of  his  delicate  feet  and 
wings ;  or,  as  in  the  case  of  the  dicecious  plants,  bears 
it  upon  his  downy  wings  and  thighs,  to  the  distant 
blossom  that  requires  its  fertilizing  properties. 

Children,  who  are  unaffected  lovers  of  flowers,  have 
always  shown  a  preference  for  those  of  early  spring, 
when  they  are  more  attractive  on  account  of  their 
novelty,  and  seern  more  beautiful  as  the  harbingers  of  a 
warmer  season.  It  is  at  this  time  that  we  most  fully 
realize  the  influence  of  the  alternations  of  the  seasons, 
in  promoting  our  happiness.  The  philosophers  of  na 
ture  long  since  discovered  that  winter  is  necessary  as  a 
period  of  repose  for  certain  vegetable  tribes,  that  with 
out  it  would  perish  or  become  unproductive.  But  this 
beneficent  change  is  equally  necessary  to  promote  the 
vigor  of  all  our  susceptibilities  for  enjoyment ;  and 
winter,  while  it  shuts  us  out  from  very  many  healthful 
pleasures,  is  a  period  during  which  our  moral  feelings 


EARLY   FLOWERS.  101 

and  imagination  acquire  new  sensibilities.  It  is  appar 
ent  that  to  this  influence  may  be  attributed  the  greater 
pleasure  we  derive  from  the  sight  of  the  early  spring 
flowers.  After  the  earth  has  remained  bleak  and  deso 
late  for  half  the  year,  every  beautiful  thing  in  nature 
has  a  renewed  charm,  when  it  reappears ;  and  a  single 
violet  by  the  way-side  inspires  a  little  child  with  more 
delight  than  he  feels  when  surrounded  by  a  whole  gar 
den  of  blossoms  in  the  month  of  July. 

Parties  of  young  children  are  annually  called  out  by 
the  first  warm  sunshine  to  hunt  for  the  early  flowers  of 
April.  The  botanist  is  also  already  out  among  the 
birds  and  children,  peeping  into  green  dells  under  the 
shelving  rocks,  or  in  sunny  nooks  brushing  away  the 
dry  oak  leaves,  to  find  the  early  anemone  or  the  fragrant 
ground-laurel,  (epigaea  repens,)  dipping  his  hand  into 
clear  streams  for  confervae  and  watercresses,  or  examin 
ing  the  drooping  branches  of  the  andromeda  for  its 
rows  of  pearly  gems.  He  thinks  not  meanly  of  his 
pursuit,  though  he  finds  for  his  companions  the  village 
children  and  the  poor  herb  woman  who  is  employed  in 
gathering  salads  for  the  market.  From  her  lips  he  may 
obtain  some  important  knowledge  and  derive  a  moral 
hint,  which  may  teach  him  that  the  sum  of  our  enjoy 
ments  is  proportioned  to  the  simplicity  of  our  habits 
and  pursuits ;  and  that  this  poor  herb  woman,  who  lives 
under  the  open  windows  of  heaven,  enjoys  more  happi 
ness,  with  all  her  poverty,  than  many  envied  persons 
who  are  prisoned  in  a  palace  and  shackled  with  gold. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  month  he  finds  but  few 
flowers  to  reward  his  search,  and  he  watches  every  little 
group  of  children  he  meets  to  inquire  if  they  have  been 
successful.  By  consulting  with  them  he  often  learns 
the  locality  of  a  rare  plant,  a  new  phase  in  the  aspect 

9* 


102  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND    FOREST. 

of  nature,  or  discovers  some  forgotten  charm  that  used 
to  hover  about  certain  old  familiar  scenes,  or  that  was 
connected  with  some  once  familiar  object,  to  whose 
pleasing  influence  he  had  become  blunted,  but  which  is 
mow  revived  in  all  its  former  intensity,  by  witnessing  its 
effects  on  the  susceptible  minds  of  the  young.  Not 
long  after  the  first  of  the  month  many  amentaceous 
shrubs  are  covered  with  their  flowing  drapery  of  blos 
soms.  Along  the  borders  of  the  old  stonewalls,  and 
outside  of  the  woods,  the  hazel  groves  display  some  of 
the  earliest  flowers  of  the  year.  Their  light  green 
aments,  before  the  leaves  have  started  from  their 
hybernacles,  hang  like  fringe  from  their  numerous 
branches ;  and  attracted  by  their  odors  the  honey  bees 
and  other  early  insects  have  already  commenced  their 
mellifluous  operations  among  their  flowery  racemes. 
While  the  hazel  thus  adorns  the  edges  of  the  woods 
and  the  rustic  way-sides,  the  hills  are  covered  with 
sweet  fern  bushes,  whose  flowers  diffuse  a  spicy  odor 
that  never  dies  out  from  their  foliage. 

We  are  not  obliged  to  go  far  from  our  door  steps  to 
see  the  evidences  of  reviving  vegetation.  The  elms  are 
fully  embroidered  with  blossoms  of  a  bright  chocolate 
hue ;  and  on  account  of  the  graceful  droop  of  their 
branches,  the  flowers  seem  to  have  a  pendulous  charac 
ter,  resembling  long  tassels  of  fringe,  whose  sobriety  of 
-hue  corresponds  with  the  general  sombre  tints  of  the 
landscape.  The  red  maple,  arrayed  in  a  more  brilliant 
vesture,  and  in  the  ruddy  hues  of  a  summer  evening 
cloud,  when  rising  up  among  the  still  leafless  trees  of 
the  forest,  seems  to  illuminate  its  shady  recesses,  like  a 
pyre  of  crimson  flame.  The  willows  bearing  blossoms 
either  yellow  or  of  a  silvery  whiteness,  occasioned  by 
the  down  that  covers  their  aments,  add  a  different  kind 


EARLY   FLOWERS.  103 

of  lustre  to  similar  grounds.  When  the  elm,  the  red 
maple,  the  different  willows,  and  the  tremulous  poplar, 
with  its  purplish  aments,  happen  to  be  grouped  together 
in  front  of  an  evergreen  wood,  the  April  sun  looks  down 
upon  a  scene  of  varied  beauty  not  surpassed  by  the 
floral  spectacles  that  glisten  under  the  brighter  beams 
of  the  summer  solstice. 

We  have  to  lament  in  this  climate  the  absence  of 
many  beautiful  flowers,  which  are  associated  in  our 
minds  with  the  opening  of  spring,  by  our  familiarity 
with  English  literature.  We  search  in  vain  over  our 
green  meads  and  sunny  hill-sides  for  the  daisy  and  the 
cowslip,  which,  like  so  many  gems  from  heaven,  span 
gle  the  fields  in  Great  Britain,  and  gladden  the  sight  of 
the  English  cottager.  We  have  read  of  them  until 
they  seem  like  the  true  tenants  of  our  own  fields  ;  and 
when  on  a  pleasant  ramble  we  do  not  find  them,  there 
seems  to  be  a  void  in  the  landscape,  and  the  fields  seem 
to  have  lost  their  fairest  ornaments.  Thus  poetry, 
while  it  inspires  the  mind  with  sentiments  that  con 
tribute  largely  to  the  sum  of  our  happiness,  often  binds 
our  affections  to  objects  we  can  never  behold  and  shall 
never  caress.  The  daisy  and  the  cowslip  are  remem 
bered  in  our  reading  as  the  bright-eyed  children  of 
spring ;  and  they  emblemize  those  little  members  of  our 
former  family  circle,  of  whom  we  have  heard  but  have 
never  seen,  who  exist  only  in  the  pensive  history  of  the 
youthful  group  whose  numbers  are  imperfect  without 
them. 

In  our  gardens  alone  do  we  find  the  pensive  snow 
drop,  the  poetic  narcissus,  the  crocus,  and  the  hyacinth. 
There  only  is  the  heartsease,  or  tricolored  violet,  which 
equally  adorns  the  fresh  chaplets  of  April,  and  blends 
its  colors  with  the  brown  sheaves  of  October.  There 


104  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

only  is  the  lily  of  the  valley,  the  bright  Bethlehem  star, 
and  the  creeping  blue-eyed  periwinkle.  The  heath  is 
neither  in  our  fields  nor  our  gardens.  The  flowers  of 
classic  lands,  and  many  plants  which  are  sacred  to  the 
muse,  are  not  found  in  the  fields  and  valleys  of  the  new 
continent.  Our  native  flowers,  for  the  most  part,  are 
consecrated  only  by  associations  with  our  own  experi 
ence,  and  not  with  poetry  and  romance.  The  starwort, 
the  anemone,  the  saxifrage,  and  the  drooping  bellwort, 
look  up  to  us  from  their  green  mossy  knolls,  full  of  the 
light  of  the  happy  years  of  our  childhood ;  but  the 
flowers  which  have  been  sung  by  the  British  or  the 
Roman  muse,  belong  to  other  climes,  and  our  own 
fields  do  not  know  them. 

While  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  flowers,  or  in  general 
observations  of  nature,  our  attention  is  attracted  to  the 
notes  and  movements  of  the  birds,  and  we  cannot  fail 
1o  remark  that  there  is  a  lively  garrulity  among  the 
feathered  tribes  at  this  time,  that  ceases  in  the  course 
of  a  few  weeks.  Along  with  the  birds  of  our  own  fields 
and  woods,  arrive  multitudes  of  little  strangers,  that 
tarry  with  us  in  their  journey  to  a  higher  latitude, 
where  they  go  to  build  their  nests  and  rear  their  young. 
They  are  commonly  assembled  in  loose  flocks,  chirping 
and  singing  almost  incessantly;  and  in  the  sheltered 
woodland  valleys,  whither  they  resort  for  protection 
from  the  cold  winds,  the  whole  air  resounds  with  their 
garrulous  melody.  Among  these  are  multitudes  of  a 
species  of  snow-bird,  (fringilla  hudsonia,)  a  little  slate- 
colored  sparrow,  often  seen  in  winter  in  company  with 
other  snow-birds.  The  song  of  this  species  consists  of 
but  few  notes,  which  are  very  melodious,  and  when 
poured  forth  by  a  whole  multitude  in  chorus,  are  ex 
ceedingly  delightful,  Associated  with  these,  are  num- 


EARLY   FLOWERS.  105 

bers  of  a  species  of  brown  finch  or  bunting,  (fringilla 
canadensis,)  that  join  their  still  more  melodious  notes 
to  the  general  medley  ;  and  perhaps  at  no  season  of  the 
year  are  we  greeted  with  a  louder  chorus  than  during 
the  latter  part  of  April,  when  these  cheerful  birds  are 
migrating  to  their  northern  haunts. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  month  the  signs  of  promise 
that  were  hung  out  upon  the  heavens  and  displayed 
upon  the  landscape,  begin  to  be  fulfilled.  Flowers  are 
more  frequent  in  our  paths  through  the  fields,  and  the 
light  green  plaited  leaves  are  conspicuous  in  the  shrub 
bery.  The  song-sparrow  is  weaving  her  nest  in  some 
grassy  knoll  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  the  robin  has 
commenced  his  early  morning  song,  and  the  bluebird  is 
exploring  the  hollows  of  old  trees  for  his  summer  habi 
tation.  Every  warm  shower  adds  new  verdure  to  the 
plain,  and  every  morning  sun  opens  new  tribes  of 
flowers  and  revives  new  hosts  of  sportive  insects.  The 
ploughman  is  already  in  the  field.  He  has  scattered  his 
early  seeds  upon  the  ground ;  and  man  and  all  other 
creatures  are  rejoicing  in  the  happy  anticipation  of  that 
season  which  annually  restores  for  a  brief  period  the 
buoyancy  and  hopefulness  of  our  early  years. 


XIV. 

PLEA   FOR   THE    BIRDS. 


IN  the  beginning,  according  to  the  testimony  of  the 
"  Wisdom  of  Solomon,"  all  things  were  ordered  in 
measure,  number,  and  weight.  The  universe  was  bal 
anced  according  to  a  law  of  harmony,  no  less  wise 
than  beautiful.  There  was  no  deficiency  in  one  part,  or 
superfluity  in  another.  As  time  was  divided  into  sea 
sons  and  days  and  years,  the  material  world  was 
arranged  in  such  a  manner  that  there  should  be  a 
mutual  dependence  of  one  kingdom  upon  another. 
Nothing  was  created  without  a  purpose,  and  all  living 
things  were  supplied  with  such  instincts  and  appetites 
as  would  lead  them  to  assist  in  the  great  work  of  pro 
gression.  The  kingdoms  of  nature  must  ever  remain 
thus  perfectly  adjusted,  except  for  the  interference  of 
man.  He  alone,  of  all  living  creatures,  has  power  to 
turn  the  operations  of  nature  out  of  their  proper  course. 
He  alone  has  the  power  to  transform  her  hills  into  for 
tifications,  and  to  degrade  her  rivers  to  commercial  ser 
vitude.  Yet  while  he  is  thus  employed  in  revolutioniz 
ing  the  surface  of  the  earth,  he  might  still  work  in 
harmony  with  nature's  designs,  and  end  in  making  it 
more  beautiful  and  more  bountiful  than  in  its  pristine 
condition. 


PLEA   FOR  THE   BIRDS.  107 

In  the  wilderness  we  find  a  certain  adjustment  of  the 
various  tribes  of  plants,  birds,  insects,  and  quadrupeds, 
differing  widely  from  that  which  prevails  over  a  large 
extent  of  cultivated  territory.  In  the  latter  new  tribes 
of  plants  are  introduced  by  art,  and  nature,  working  in 
harmony  with  man,  introduces  corresponding  tribes  of 
insects,  birds,  and  quadrupeds.  Man  may  with  impu 
nity  revolutionize  the  vegetable  productions,  if  he  but 
allows  a  certain  freedom  to  nature,  in  her  efforts  to 
supply  the  balance  which  he  has  disturbed.  While 
man  is  employed  in  restocking  the  earth  with  trees  and 
vegetables,  nature  endeavors  to  preserve  her  harmony 
by  a  new  supply  of  birds  and  insects.  A  superabun 
dance  of  either  might  be  fatal  to  certain  tribes  of  plants. 
I  believe  the  insect  races  to  be  as  needful  in  the  order 
of  creation  as  any  other  part  of  nature's  works.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  that  innumerable  host  of  plants 
denominated  weeds.  But  while  man  is  endeavoring  to 
keep  down  superfluities,  he  may,  by  working  blindly, 
cause  the  very  evil  he  designs  to  prevent.  It  is  not 
easy  to  check  the  multiplication  of  weeds  and  insects. 
These,  in  spite  of  all  direct  efforts  to  check  them,  will 
increase  beyond  their  just  mean.  This  calamity  would 
not  happen,  if  we  took  pains  to  preserve  the  feathered 
tribes,  which  are  the  natural  checks  to  the  multiplica 
tion  of  insects  and  weeds.  Birds  are  easily  destroyed ; 
some  species,  indeed,  are  already  nearly  exterminated  ; 
and  all  are  kept  down  to  such  a  limit  as  to  bear  no  just 
proportion  to  the  quantity  of  insects  that  supply  them 
with  food. 

Although  birds  are  great  favorites  with  man,  there 
are  no  animals,  if  we  except  the  vermin  that  infest  our 
dwellings,  that  suffer  such  unremitted  persecution. 
They  are  everywhere  destroyed,  either  for  food  or  for 


108  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

the  pleasure  of  the  chase.  As  soon  as  a  boy  is  able  to 
shoulder  a  gun,  he  goes  out  day  after  day,  and  year 
after  year,  in  his  warfare  of  extermination  against  the 
feathered  race.  He  spares  the  birds  at  no  season  and 
in  no  situation.  While  thus  employed,  he  is  encour 
aged  by  older  persons,  as  if  he  were  ridding  the  earth  of 
a  pest.  Thus  do  men  promote  the  destruction  of  one 
of  the  blessed  gifts  of  nature. 

If  there  be  proof  that  any  race  of  animals  was 
created  for  the  particular  benefit  of  mankind,  this  may 
certainly  be  said  of  birds.  Men  in  general  are  not  apt 
to  consider  how  greatly  the  sum  of  human  happiness  is 
increased  by  certain  circumstances  of  which  we  take 
but  little  note.  There  are  not  many  who*  are  in  the 
habit  of  going  out  of  their  way,  or  pausing  often  from 
their  labors,  to  hear  the  song  of  a  bird,  or  to  examine  the 
beauty  of  a  flower.  Yet  the  most  indifferent  would 
soon  experience  a  painful  emotion  of  solitude,  were  the 
feathered  race  to  be  suddenly  annihilated,  or  were  veg 
etation  to  be  deprived  of  every  thing  but  its  leaves  and 
fruit.  Though  we  may  be  accustomed  to  regard  these 
things  as  insignificant  trifles,  we  are  all  pleasingly 
affected  by  them.  Let  him  who  thinks  he  despises  a 
bird  or  a  flower,  be  suddenly  east  ashore  upon  some 
desert  island,  and  after  a  lonely  residence  there  for  a 
season,  let  one  of  our  familiar  birds  greet  him  with  a 
few  of  its  old  accustomed  notes,  or  a  little  flower  peep 
out  upon  him,  with  the  same  look  which  has  often 
greeted  him  by  the  way-side  in  his  own  country,  and 
how  gladly  would  he  confess  their  influence  upon. his 
mind! 

But  there  is  a  great  deal  of  affectation  of  indifference 
towards  these  objects,  which  is  not  real.  Children  are 
delighted  with  birds  and  flowers  ;  —  women,  who  have 


PLEA   FOR   THE   BIRDS.  109 

in  general  more  cultivation  than  men,  are  no  less  de 
lighted  with  them.  It  is  a  common  weakness  of  men. 
who  are  ambitious  to  seem  above  every  thing  that 
pleases  women  and  children,  to  affect  to  despise  the 
singing  of  a  bird  or  the  beauty  of  a  flower.  But  even 
those  who  affect  this  indifference  are  not  wholly  deaf  or 
blind.  They  are  merely  ignorant  of  the  influence  upon* 
their  own  minds  of  some  of  the  chief  sources  of  our 
pleasures. 

It  is  not  entirely  on  account  of  their  song,  their 
beauty,  and  their  interesting  habits,  that  we  would  set 
so  high  a  value  upon  the  feathered  tribes.  They  are 
important  in  the  general  economy  of  nature,  without 
which  the  operation  of  her  laws  would  be  disturbed, 
and  the  parts  in  the  general  harmony  would  be  incom 
plete.  As  the  annihilation  of  a  planet  would  produce 
disturbance  in  the  motions  of  the  spheres,  and  throw 
the  celestial  worlds  out  of  their  balance,  so  would  the 
destruction  of  any  species  of  birds  create  confusion 
among  terrestrial  things.  Birds  are  the  chief  and  almost 
the  only  instruments  employed  by  nature  for  checking 
the  multiplication  of  insects  which  otherwise  would 
spread  devastation  over  the  whole  earth.  They  are 
always  busy  in  their  great  work,  emigrating  from  place 
to  place,  as  the  changes  of  the  seasons  cut  off  their 
supplies  in  one  country,  arid  raise  them  up  in  another. 
Some,  like  the  swallow  tribe,  seize  them  on  the  wing, 
sailing  along  the  air  with  the  velocity  of  the  winds,  and 
preserving  it  from  any  excess  of  the  minute  species  of" 
atmospheric  insects.  Others  like  the  creepers  and  wood 
peckers  penetrate  into  the  wood  and  bark  of  trees,  and 
dislodge  the  larva?  before  they  emerge  into  the  open  air- 
Besides  these  birds  that  do  their  work  by  day,  there  are 
others,  like  the  whippoorwili  tribe,  that  keep  their  watch. 

10 


110  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

by  night,  and  check  the  multiplication  of  moths, 
beetles,  and  other  noctural  insects. 

Man  alone,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  can  seriously 
disturb  the  operations  of  nature.  It  is  he  who  turns 
the  rivers  from  their  courses,  and  makes  the  little  gurg 
ling  streams  tributary  to  the  sluggish  canal.  He  destroys 
the  forests,  and  exterminates  the  birds,  after  depriving 
them  of  their  homes.  But  the  insects,  whose  extreme 
minuteness  renders  them  unassailable  by  his  weapons, 
he  cannot  destroy,  and  nature  allows  them  to  multiply, 
and  to  become  a  scourge  to  him,  as  if  in  just  retribu 
tion  for  his  cruelty  to  the  feathered  races  who  are  his 
benefactors. 

In  the  native  wilderness,  where  man  has  not  inter 
fered  with  the  harmonious  operations  of  nature,  the 
insects  are  kept  down  to  a  point,  at  which  their  num 
bers  are  not  sufficient  to  commit  any  perceptible  rava 
ges.  The  birds,  their  natural  destroyers,  are  allowed  to 
live,  and  their  numbers  keep  pace  with  the  insects  they 
devour.  In  cultivated  tracts,  on  the  contrary,  a  different 
state  of  things  exists.  Man  has  destroyed  the  forests, 
and  raised  up  gardens  and  orchards  in  their  place.  The 
wild  pasture  has  become  arable  meadow,  and  the  whortle 
berry  grounds  have  been  changed  into  corn  fields.  New 
races  of  beetles  and  other  insects,  which  are  attached  to 
the  cultivated  vegetables,  increase  and  multiply  in  the 
same  proportion.  If  man  wrould  permit,  the  birds  that 
feed  upon  these  insects  would  keep  pace  with  their 
increase,  and  prevent  the  damage  they  cause  to  vegeta 
tion.  But  too  avaricious  to  allow  the  birds  to  live,  lest 
they  should  plunder  fruit  enough  to  pay  them  the  wages 
for  their  useful  labors,  he  destroys  the  exterminator  of 
vermin,  and  thus  to  save  a  little  of  his  fruit  from  the 
birds,  he  sacrifices  his  orchards  to  the  insects. 


PLEA   FOR   THE   BIRDS.  Ill 

If  any  species  of  birds  were  exterminated,  those 
tribes  of  insects,  which  are  their  natural  food,  would 
become  exceedingly  abundant.  Inasmuch  as  the  atmos 
phere,  if  the  swallows  were  to  become  extinct,  would 
be  rendered  unfit  for  respiration,  by  an  increased  multi 
tude  of  gnats  and  smaller  insects,  —  so  were  the  spar 
row  tribes  to  become  extinct,  vegetation  would  imme 
diately  suffer  from  an  increase  of  caterpillars,  curculios, 
and  other  pests  of  our  orchards.  We  may  say  the  same 
of  other  insects  with  relation  to  other  birds.  It  is  there 
fore  plainly  for  the  interest  of  the  farmer  and  the  horti 
culturist  to  use  all  means  for  the  preservation  of  birds 
of  every  species.  There  is  no  danger  likely  to  arise 
from  their  excessive  multiplication.  The  number  of 
each  species  cannot  exceed  that  limit,  beyond  which 
they  could  not  be  supplied  with  their  proper  and  natural 
food.  Up  to  this  limit  if  they  could  always  be  pre 
served,  our  crops  would  be  effectually  secured  from  the 
ravages  of  insects.  The  country  would  probably  sup 
port  double  the  present  number  of  every  species  of 
birds,  which  are  kept  down  below  their  proper  limits,  by 
accident,  by  the  gun  of  the  sportsman,  and  by  the  mis 
chievous  cruelty  of  boys. 

Most  of  the  smaller  kinds  of  birds  have  a  disposition 
to  congregate  around  our  villages.  You  seldom  find  a 
robin  or  a  sparrow,  during  breeding  time,  in  the  deep 
forest.  It  is  the  same  with  the  insects  that  serve  them 
for  food.  There  are  tribes  of  insects  that  chiefly  fre 
quent  the  wild  woods  ;  these  are  the  prey  of  wood 
peckers  and  their  kindred  species.  There  are  others 
which  are  abundant  chiefly  in  our  orchards  and  gar 
dens  ;  these  are  the  prey  of  bluebirds,  sparrows,  wrens, 
and  other  common  and  familiar  birds. 

Man  has  the  power  to  diminish  the  multitudes  of 


112  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

insects  that  desolate  the  forests  and  destroy  his  har 
vests;  but  this  can  be  effected  only  by  preserving  the 
birds.  Nature  has  endowed  them  with  an  instinct  that 
leads  them  to  congregate  about  his  habitations,  as  if 
she  designed  them  to  protect  him  from  the  scourge  of 
noxious  vermin,  and  to  charm  his  ears  by  the  melody  of 
their  songs.  Hence  every  tract  which  is  inhabited  by 
man  is  furnished  with  its  native  singing  bird,  and  man 
is  endowed  with  a  sensibility  which  renders  the  har 
mony  of  sounds  necessary  to  his  happiness.  The 
warbling  of  birds  is  intimately  associated  with  every 
thing  that  is  beautiful  in  nature.  It  is  allied  with  the 
dawn  of  morning,  the  sultry  quiet  of  noon,  and  the 
pleasant  hush  of  evening.  There  is  not  a  cottage  in 
the  wilderness,  whose  inmates  do  not  look  upon  the 
birds,  as  the  chief  instruments  of  nature  to  inspire  them 
with  contentment  in  their  solitude.  Without  their 
merry  voices,  the  silence  of  the  groves,  unbroken  save 
by  the  moaning  of  the  winds,  would  be  oppressive ;  the 
fields  would  lose  half  their  cheerfulness,  and  the  forest 
would  seem  the  very  abode  of  melancholy.  Then  let 
our  arms,  designed  only  for  self-defence,  no  longer 
spread  destruction  over  the  plains ;  let  the  sound  of 
musketry  no  longer  blend  its  discord  with  the  voices  of 
the  birds,  that  they  may  gather  about  our  habitations 
with  confidence,  and  find  in  man,  for  whose  pleasure 
they  sing  and  for  whose  benefit  they  toil,  a  friend  and  a 
protector. 


XV. 

THE    SINGINQ   BIRDS  AND   THEIR  SONGS. 


THE  singing  birds  are  universally  regarded  as  the 
most  interesting  part  of  animated  creation ;  and  they 
are  the  only  creatures,  excepting  a  few  of  the  insect 
tribe,  that  can  be  said  to  sing.  Their  voices  are  asso 
ciated  in  our  minds  with  all  the  beautiful  scenes  of  na 
ture  and  with  the  fairest  seasons  of  the  year.  There  is 
no  man,  however  insensible  he  may  be  to  the  sound  of 
musical  instruments,  who  is  not  delighted  with  the 
warbling  of  birds,  who  speak  the  language  of  nature 
and  of  love.  The  birds  of  temperate  climates  are  be 
lieved  to  be  better  singers  than  those  species  that  in 
habit  the  tropics.  This  opinion,  generally  correct,  has 
probably  arisen  partly  from  the  fact  that  a  large  propor 
tion  of  the  birds  that  winter  in  the  tropics,  belong  to 
the  temperate  latitudes,  and  that  they  are  silent  during 
this  period,  because  it  is  not  their  breeding  season.. 
They  sing  only  in  summer,  when  they  return  to  their 
native  climes  to  rear  their  young.  The  tropics  are  al 
ways  full  of  these  sojourners,  because  there  is  winter  at 
all  times,  either  north  or  south  of  them. 

Singing  birds  are  found  in  the  greatest  numbers  on 
cultivated,  or  half  cultivated  lands.,  or  in  woods  in  the 
10* 


114  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

vicinity  of  them.  It  may,  therefore,  be  inferred,  that  as 
the  country  grows  older,  and  is  more  extensively  culti 
vated,  the  numbers  of  our  warblers  will  increase ;  and 
it  is  not  improbable  that  their  vocal  powers  may  be  im 
proved.  Hence  it  may  be  true,  that  for  many  years, 
after  the  first  settlement  of  this  country,  there  were  but 
few  singing  birds  of  those  species  which  at  the  present 
time  are  so  numerous,  having  multiplied  with  the  in 
crease  of  human  population  and  the  culture  of  the  wil 
derness.  At  that  early  period,  though  the  same  species 
existed  here,  and  were  musical,  their  numbers  might 
have  been  so  small  that  one  could  be  seldom  heard. 
By  this  circumstance  travellers  were  led  to  believe  that 
there  were  but  few  singing  birds  in  America. 

A  little  observation  would  soon  convince  one  that  the 
wilderness  affords  comparatively  but  few  warblers. 
There  you  find  crows,  woodpeckers,  jays,  and  other 
noisy  birds,  in  great  numbers ;  and  you  occasionally 
hear  the  notes  of  the  solitary  thrushes  and  flycatchers ; 
but  not  until  you  are  in  the  vicinity  of  orchards  and 
plantations,  are  your  ears  saluted  with  a  full  band  of 
feathered  musicians.  The  common  bobolinks  are  sel 
dom  found  in  the  deep  forests,  and  are  unfrequent  in 
the  wild  pastures  and  meadows.  Their  chief  places  of 
resort  are  the  cultivated  grass  lands.  They  build  their 
nests  on  the  ground  in  the  midst  of  the  tall  grass,  and 
these  nests  are  exposed,  in  great  numbers,  by  the  scythe 
of  the  haymaker.  These  birds,  before  America  was 
settled  by  the  Europeans,  and  when  the  greater  part  of 
the  country  was  a  wilderness  of  woods,  must  have  been 
comparatively  few.  There  are  probably  thousands  at 
the  present  day  to  as  many  hundreds  that  existed  in  the 
time  of  Columbus.  The  common  robins,  the  song-spar 
rows,  the  grass-finches,  and  indeed  all  our  familiar  birds, 


THE   SINGING   BIRDS   AND   THEIR   SONGS.  115 

have  probably  increased  in  the  same  ratio,  with  the 
progress  of  agriculture  and  the  settlement  of  the 
country. 

The  song  of  birds  is  undoubtedly  innate ;  or  rather, 
birds  of  the  same  species  have,  by  their  organization,  a 
predisposition  to  utter  certain  sounds,  when  under  the 
influence  of  certain  emotions.  Besides  their  native 
notes,  they  will  learn  those  of  other  birds,  when  con 
fined  with  them,  which  they  sometimes  blend  with  their 
native  strains.  The  bobolink,  when  caged,  readily  learns 
the  song  of  the  canary,  and  surpasses  the  original ;  but 
in  his  wild  state  he  never  deviates  from  his  own  pecu 
liar  medley.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  nature  has 
provided  each  species  of  bird  with  notes,  unlike  those 
of  other  species,  as  a  means  by  which  individuals 
should  be  enabled  to  identify  their  own  kindred.  When 
confined  in  a  cage  all  birds  may  become  imitative,  and 
in  a  measure  forgetful  of  their  original  strains. 

The  song  of  the  bird  seems  to  be  the  means  used  by 
the  male,  not  only  to  woo  the  female,  but  to  call  her  to 
himself  when  absent.  Before  he  has  chosen  his  mate, 
he  sings  more  loudly  than  at  any  subsequent  period. 
The  different  males  of  the  same  species  seem,  at  that 
time,  to  be  vying  with  one  another ;  and  probably  the 
one  that  has  the  loudest  and  most  varied  song  is  most 
likely  to  be  soon  attended  by  a  mate.  While  the  two 
birds  are  employed  in  building  their  nest,  the  male  con 
stantly  attends  his  partner  from  place  to  place,  and 
sings  less  loudly  and  less  frequently  than  before.  This 
comparative  silence  continues  until  the  female  begins 
to  sit  on  her  eggs.  While  she  is  sitting,  the  male  again 
sings  more  loudly  and  incessantly,  perched  upon  some 
neighboring  bough,  as  if  to  apprise  her  of  his  presence, 
or  perhaps  with  some  inclination  to  entice  her  away 


116  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

from  the  nest.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  male  birds 
seem  to  be  somewhat  displeased  with  the  female 
while  she  is  sitting,  and  are  more  than  usually  vocifer 
ous. 

After  the  young  brood  is  hatched,  the  attention  of  the 
male  bird  is  occupied  with  the  care  of  his  offspring, 
though  he  is  far  less  assiduous  in  his  parental  duties 
than  the  female ;  and,  for  a  season  he  becomes  some 
what  silent,  until  a  second  incubation  commences. 
But  those  species  that  rear  only  one  brood  in  a  season, 
become  entirely  silent  after  the  young  birds  are  fledged 
and  have  left  the  nest.  Should  they  rear  another  brood, 
the  male  becomes  once  more  as  vocal  as  ever  while  his 
mate  is  sitting  the  second  time.  He  does  the  same,  if 
he  happens  to  lose  his  mate,  when  he  becomes  again 
very  tuneful  and  vociferous,  uttering  his  call-notes 
loudly  for  several  days,  and  finally  changing  them  into 
song.  Hence  it  would  seem  that  the  song  of  the  bird 
proceeds  from  a  certain  degree  of  discontent,  arising 
first,  from  his  want  of  a  mate,  and  secondly,  from  his 
uneasiness  on  account  of  her  absence  while  sitting 
upon  her  eggs.  The  buoyancy  of  spirits  produced  by 
the  delightfulness  of  the  season,  and  the  full  supply  of 
his  physical  wants,  is  joined  with  the  pains  of  absence 
which  he  is  striving  to  allay.  I  have  often  thought  that 
the  almost  uninterrupted  song  of  caged  birds  proves 
their  singing  to  be  no  certain  evidence  of  happiness, 
and  that  it  chiefly  arises  from  a  desire  to  entice  a  com 
panion  into  their  own  little  prison.  It  is  well  known 
that  when  an  old  bird  from  our  own  fields  is  caught 
and  caged,  he  will  continue  his  tunefulness  long  after 
all  others  of  the  same  species,  who  enjoy  their  freedom, 
have  become  silent.  The  bobolink,  in  a  state  of  free 
dom,  seldom  sings  after  the  middle  of  July ;  but  if  one 


THE   SINGING   BIRDS   AND   THEIR   SONGS.  117 

be  caught  and  caged,  he  will  continue  to  warble  more 
loudly  than  he  did  in  his  native  fields,  until  Septem 
ber. 

The  notes  of  birds  in  general,  seem  to  be  arranged 
without  regard  to  the  intervals  of  the  musical  gamut. 
You  seldom  perceive  any  thing  like  artificial  pauses  or 
gradations  in  their  time  or  melody.  This  proceeds 
from  no  deficiency  of  musical  ear,  as  every  singing  bird, 
while  young,  may  be  taught  to  warble  an  artificial 
tune.  They  never  dwell  steadily  on  one  note,  but  are 
constantly  sliding  and  quavering,  full  of  slurs  and  ap- 
pog-g-iaturas.  There  are  some  species  whose  notes  ap 
proximate  to  the  artificial  modulation  ;  but  it  is  worthy 
of  notice  that  these  are  not  classed  among  singing  birds. 
The  whistling  quail  utters  three  notes  in  his  call  —  the 
two  first  alike,  except  in  time,  and  the  third  a  slide 
from  these  to  a  perfect  fifth.  The  notes  of  the  whip- 
poorwill  resemble  those  of  the  quail,  his  first  note  being 
a  minor-third  above  the  second,  and  the  third  note  a 
fourth  above  the  first,  the  third  note  being  more  perfectly 
intonated  than  that  of  the  quail.  The  common  chicka 
dee,  or  blackcap  titmouse,  frequently  in  summer  utters 
two  notes  which  make  a  perfect  minor-third  on  the  de 
scending  scale.  It  is  not  improbable  that  if  the  notes 
of  the  singing  birds  could  be  accurately  written  down 
on  the  gamut,  they  might  be  found  to  possess  a  regu 
larity  of  modulation,  corresponding  to  that  which  we 
call  the  artificial  one. 

The  lark  and  the  nightingale,  which  have  been  made 
so  familiar  to  us  by  our  acquaintance  with  English 
literature,  are  not  inhabitants  of  America,  and  their  ab 
sence  is  lamented  by  every  lover  of  nature.  There  is  a 
species  of  lark  that  breeds  in  the  vicinity  of  Labrador 
and  Hudson's  Bay,  which  has  some  of  the  musical 


118  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

habits  of  the  skylark.  But  though  they  have  been 
occasionally  heard  to  sing  in  New  England,  while  on 
their  passage  to  a  southern  latitude,  in  the  month  of 
October,  they  cannot  be  reckoned  among  our  own  sing 
ing  birds?.  The  whippoorwill  is  our  Philomel,  though 
his  monotonous  notes  hardly  deserve  to  be  called  a 
song.  There  is  a  species  of  snipe  in  this  country, 
which  has  some  of  the  habits  of  the  skylark,  rising  like 
that  bird,  both  in  the  morning,  and  in  the  evening,  just 
after  dark.  After  chirping  awhile,  he  commences  a 
spiral  flight  upwards,  beginning  in  a  wide  circle,  which 
continually  narrows  as  he  ascends,  until  he  has  arrived 
at  the  summit  of  his  flight.  He  then  sustains  himself 
in  a  hovering  position  for  the  space  of  about  half  a 
minute,  chattering  and  chirping  very  agreeably  ;  after 
which,  he  descends  in  a  spiral  flight  to  the  ground. 
This  amusement  is  continued  for  the  space  of  two  or 
three  hours. 

The  little  hair-bird  that  sings  incessantly  in  the  morn 
ings  of  spring  and  early  summer,  often  utters  his  single 
trilling  note,  at  intervals  throughout  the  night,  in  May 
and  June ;  but  his  notes  are  not  much  louder  than  those 
of  a  grasshopper.  The  rose-breasted  grossbeak,  whose 
notes  I  have  never  had  the  good  fortune  to  hear,  is  said 
to  be  a  nocturnal  warbler.  This  bird  is  seldom  seen  in 
the  New  England  States.  It  is  said  to  frequent  the 
remote  north-west  territory;  and  the  species  is  numer 
ous  in  the  forests  along  the  south  shore  of  Lake  Erie, 
where  it  breeds.  These  birds  are  said  to  pass  the 
greater  part  of  the  night  in  singing,  in  the  most  delight 
ful  manner. 

The  ornithologists  of  the  Old  and  New  continents 
have  long  been  at  variance  in  their  opinions  of  the  com 
parative  merits  of  their  native  singing  birds.  Buffon, 


THE   SINGING   BIRDS   AND   THEIR   SONGS.  119 

who  wrote,  not  from  his  own  observations,  but  from  the 
accounts  of  travellers,  declared  the  birds  of  America  to 
be  unmusical.  This  was  the  general  opinion  of  Euro 
peans,  until  Alexander  Wilson  published  his  work  on 
the  Birds  of  the  United  States.  Wilson  was  a  Scotch 
man,  and  was  familiar  with  the  notes  of  the  European 
warblers,  having  been  from  his  early  youth  an  ardent 
lover  of  nature  and  a  curious  observer  of  the  habits  of 
birds.  He  pronounced  the  birds  of  this  continent  to  be 
superior  to  those  of  Europe  in  their  powers  of  song. 
Other  European  naturalists  have  declared  in  favor  of 
their  own  birds.  Audubon  subscribes  to  the  opinion  of 
Wilson  ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  both  of  these 
naturalists  were  misled  by  their  own  enthusiasm,  and 
by  their  attachment  to  the  American  birds  with  whom 
they  had  been  so  long  familiar.  I  doubt  whether  we 
have  a  single  warbler  whose  native  notes  equal  those  of 
the  nightingale,  or  of  either  the  skylark  or  the  woodlark 
of  Europe.  At  the  same  time,  I  am  prepared  to  say 
that  I  believe  no  bird  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  can  be 
found,  any  part  of  whose  song  is  equal  in  mellowness, 
plaintiveness,  and  in  what  is  generally  understood  as 
expression,  to  the  five  strains,  never  varied  and  yet 
never  tiresome,  of  the  common,  little,  olive-brown  wood- 
thrush. 

The  powers  of  the  American  mocking-bird  are  un 
questionably  overrated.  His  native  notes  do  not  differ 
materially  from  those  of  the  ferruginous  thrush ;  but  he 
has  more  power  and  compass  than  the  latter,  and  is  a 
more  inveterate  singer.  The  mocking-bird  has  the  de 
fect  of  all  the  American  thrushes,  except  the  wood- 
thrush,  which  is  a  want  of  continuity  in  their  song. 
Their  different  strains  are  separated  by  a  pause  which 
greatly  injures  their  effect.  Hence  they  appear  to  be 


120  STUDIES   IN  THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

wanting  in  enthusiasm,  never  warbling  as  if  in  ecstasy, 
like  the  bobolink,  the  grass-finch,  and  the  canary  bird. 
The  imitative  powers  of  the  mocking-bird  are  chiefly 
confined  to  the  imitation  of  separate  sounds.  He  will 
imitate  the  crying  of  a  chicken,  the  mewing  of  a  cat, 
the  whistling  of  a  quail,  and  the  single  strains  of  many 
other  birds.  But  he  is  never  heard  to  give  a  perfect 
imitation  of  the  continued  song  of  any  bird  whose  notes 
are  difficult  of  execution.  This  the  bobolink,  when 
caged,  and  several  other  birds,  will  do  to  perfection. 

The  following  Table  of  the  comparative  merits  of  the 
British  singing  birds,  was  prepared  by  Hon.  Daines 
Barrington.  The  Table  of  the  American  singing  birds, 
I  have  prepared  after  the  manner  of  Mr.  Barrington's 
table,  but  do  not  design  it  as  affording  any  criterion  by 
which  the  British  birds  may  be  compared  with  those  of 
our  own  country.  If  these  two  tables  be  generally  cor 
rect,  it  will  be  seen  that  the  thrushes  which  take  the 
first  rank  among  American  singing  birds,  take  only 
about  a  third  rank  among  those  of  Great  Britain. 
Two  of  the  most  celebrated  warblers  among  the  latter, 
—  the  nightingale  and  the  blackcap,  —  are  Sylvias, 
while  there  is  not  one  species  of  this  tribe  in  New 
England  that  is  remarkable  for  its  powers  of  .song. 
The  birds  that  make  the  greater  part  of  the  melody 
that  pervades  our  woods  and  fields  in  New  England, 
and  which  would  be  the  most  sadly  missed,  if  their 
species  were  to  become  extinct,  are  the  common  robin, 
the  grass-finch,  the  wood-thrush,  and  the  song-spar 
row. 


THE   SINGING   BIRDS   AND   THEIR   SONGS. 


121 


Table  of  the  comparative  merits  of  British  Singing  Birds,  in  which  20 
is  supposed  to  be  the  point  of  perfection.    By  Daines  Barrington. 


Mellowness 
of  Tone. 

Sprightly 
Notes. 

Plaintive 

Notes. 

1 

Execution. 

Nightingale         .... 

19 

14 

19 

19 

19 

Skylark          ..... 

4 

19 

4 

18 

18 

Wood-lark         '  .     *   i 

18 

4 

17 

12 

8 

Titlark  .         ,  /    ,;. 

12 

12 

12 

12 

12 

Linnet        ...         .         .         . 

12 

16 

12 

16 

18 

Goldfinch       .        . 

4 

19 

4 

12 

12 

Chaffinch    .         ... 

4 

12 

4 

8 

8 

Greenfinch     ..... 

4 

4 

4 

4 

6 

Hedge  Sparrow 
Aderdavine,  or  Siskin    . 

6 
2 

0 
4 

6 
0 

4 
4 

4 
4 

Red  Poll    

0 

4 

0 

4 

4 

Thrush  

4 

4 

4 

4 

4 

Blackbird  

4 

4 

0 

2 

2 

Robin     .         .         .         .        .     |-  » 

6 

16 

12 

12 

12 

Wren     '  *.        .         .       V        . 

0 

12 

0 

4 

4 

Red  Sparrow          .        .        .        .  . 

0 

4 

0 

2 

2 

Blackcap,  or  Mock  Nightingale, 

14 

12 

12 

14 

14 

Table  of  the  comparative  merits  of  American  Singing  Birds,  prepared 
after  the  manner  of  the  preceding  table,  in  which  20  is  supposed  to 
be  the  point  of  perfection. 


%  i 

S3  r 
|fi 

1  = 

Sprightly 
Notes. 

Plaintive 

Notes. 

Compass. 

Execution. 

Mocking-Bird     .... 

18 

12 

4 

19 

12 

Red  Thrush  

18 

10 

6 

14 

12 

Wood-  Thrush     .... 

19 

4 

19 

4 

4 

Hermit  Thrush       .... 

18 

4 

12 

12 

10 

Cat-Bird     

4 

6 

4 

6 

6 

Robin     

18 

8 

10 

8 

8 

Song-Sparrow    .... 

9 

10 

8 

16 

16 

Grass-Finch  ..... 

12 

14 

12 

12 

12 

Field  Sparrow    .... 

16 

8 

14 

10 

10 

Hemp  Bird    ..... 

6 

6 

4 

6 

6 

American  Linnet 

12 

12 

8 

8 

12 

Bobolink        ..... 

10 

18 

0 

10 

12 

11 


122 


STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 


TABLE  —  Continued. 


Mellowness 
of  Tone. 

Sprightly 
Notes. 

Plaintive 

Notes. 

a 
3 

Execution. 

Wren          ..... 
Red-eyed  Vireo     .... 
Common  Vireo  .... 
Indigo  Bird    
Yellow  Throat   .... 
Golden  Oriole        .... 
Bluebird     
Whippoorwill         .... 
Purple  Martin    .... 

6 
6 
6 
2 
2 
12 
18 
10 
10 

16 
4 
4 
2 
2 
12 
0 
i     0 
10 

0 
2 
4 
0 
0 
0 
8 
8 
0 

9 
6 
4 
2 
2 
4 
2 
2 
5 

9 
6 
4 
2 
2 
4 
2 
2 
8 

XVI. 

MAY 


THE  month  of  May  is  often  personified  as  a  beautiful 
virgin,  in  the  early  ripeness  of  her  charms ;  and  he  who 
is  insensible  to  female  beauty  and  loveliness,  seems  to 
be  endowed  with  hardly  less  of  the  noble  attributes  of 
humanity  than  he  who,  without  rapture,  can  behold  the 
lovely  face  of  nature  at  the  present  time-  Our  spring 
does  not,  like  the  same  season,  in  high  northern  lati 
tudes,  awake  suddenly  into  perfect  verdure,  out  of  the 
bosom  of  the  snows ;  but  lingers  along  for  more  than 
two  months  from  its  commencement,  like  that  long 
twilight  of  purple  and  crimson  that  leads  up  the  morn 
ings  in  summer.  And  there  is  a  benevolent  provision 
for  our  happiness  in  this  prolongation  of  the  season  of 
hopes  and  promises,  though  frequently  interrupted  by 
short  periods  of  wintry  gloom.  Anticipation  thus  pro 
longs  its  abode  in  our  hearts,  and  affords  us  something 
like  an  extension  of  the  period  of  youth,  and  its  exhil 
arating  fancies. 

Our  ideas  of  the  month  of  May,  being  in  a  great 
measure  derived  from  the  descriptions-  of  English  poets- 
and  rural  authors,  abound  in  many  pleasing  fallacies. 
There  are  no  seas  of  waving  grass  and  bending  grain, 


124  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

in  the  May  of  New  England ;  and  not  until  the  month 
is  nearly  spent,  have  the  greater  part  of  the  forest  trees 
put  forth  their  blossoms.  Nature  is  not  yet  clothed  in 
the  fulness  of  her  beauty ;  but  in  many  respects  she  is 
lovelier  than  she  ever  will  be  in  the  future.  Her  very 
imperfections  are  charming,  inasmuch  as  they  are  the 
budding  of  perfection,  and  afford  us  the  agreeable  sen 
timent  of  beauty,  united  with  that  of  progression. 
There  is  a  charm  in  that  species  of  imperfection,  which, 
so  far  from  implying  defect,  is  but  the  evidence  of 
increasing  loveliness,  and  more  interesting  than  perfec 
tion  itself,  which  is  necessarily  associated  with  the  idea 
of  discontinued  progression. 

It  is  the  influence  of  this  sentiment  that  renders  a 
young  girl  more  lovely  and  interesting  with  her  unfin 
ished  graces,  than  when  she  has  attained  the  comple 
tion  of  her  charms.  But  by  confounding  imperfec 
tion  with  defect,  we  are  often  led  to  admire  even  the 
foibles  of  youth,  under  the  vain  conceit,  that  a  foible 
may  ripen  into  a  virtue.  As  the  buds  only  of  a  plant 
will  produce  leaves  and  flowers,  and  as  the  tender 
spines  #vill  never  produce  any  thing  but  thorns  —  thus 
in  the  youthful  character,  it  is  only  the  unripened  and 
imperfect  graces  that  will  ever  become  virtues,  while 
the  foibles,  if  not  pruned  off,  will  surely  harden  into 
vices. 

One  of  the  most  agreeable  pursuits  connected  with 
the  study  of  nature,  is  to  watch  the  progress  of  vegeta 
tion,  from  the  earliest  greenness  of  the  landscape,  and 
the  first  sprouting  of  the  herbs,  unfolding  of  the  leaves, 
and  opening  of  the  buds,  until  every  herb,  tree,  and 
flower  has  expanded  and  brightened  into  the  full  radi 
ance  of  summer.  While  the  earth  exhibits  only  a  few 
occasional  stripes  of  verdure,  along  the  borders  of  the 


MAY.  125 

shallow  pools  and  rivulets,  and  on  the  hill-sides,  where 
they  are  watered  by  the  oozing  fountains  just  beneath 
the  surface,  we  may  observe  the  beautiful  drapery  of 
the  tasselled  trees  and  shrubs,  varying  in  color  from  a 
light  yellow,  to  a  dark  orange  or  brown,  and  robing  the 
swamps  with  a  flowery  splendor,  that  forms  a  striking 
contrast  with  the  general  nakedness  of  the  plain.  As 
the  hues  of  this  drapery  fade  by  the  withering  of  the 
catkins,  the  leaf  buds  of  the  trees  gradually  put  off 
their  scaly  coverings,  in  which  the  infant  bud  has  been 
cradled  during  the  winter;  and  the  tender  fan-shaped 
leaves  in  plaited  folds  and  of  different  hues,  come  forth 
in  millions,  and  yield  to  the  whole  forest  a  .golden  and 
ruddy  splendor,  like  the  tints  of  the  clouds  that  curtain 
the  summer  horizon.  Though  there  is  an  indefinable 
beauty  in  the  infinitely  varied  hues  of  the  foliage  at 
this  time,  yet  this  is  far  from  being  the  most  attractive 
spectacle  of  the  season.  WJbile  the  trees  are  expand 
ing  their  leaves,  the  earth  is  daily  becoming  greener 
with  every  night-fall  of  dew,  and  thousands  of  flowers 
awake  into  life  with  every  morning  sun.  At  first  a 
few  violets  appear  on  the  hill-sides,  increasing  daily  in 
numbers  and  brightness,  until  they  are  more  numerous 
than  the  stars  of  heaven ;  then  a  single  dandelion,  that 
appears  but  as  the  harbinger  of  millions  in  less  than  a 
week  —  all  gradually  multiply,  and  bring  along  in  their 
rear  a  countless  troop  of  anemones,  saxifrages,  gerani 
ums,  buttercups,  columbines,  and  everlastings,  until  the 
landscape  is  gemmed  with  the  universal  wreath  of 
spring. 

One  of  the  earliest  flowering  shrubs  of  the  season, 
and  one  of  the  most  beautiful,  on  close  inspection,  with 
its  evergreen,  myrtle-like  foliage,  its  slender  drooping 
branches,  and  its  long  rows  of  white  cup-shaped  blos- 

11* 


126  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

soms,  like  those  of  the  lily  of  the  valley,  is  the  low 
andromeda.  It  is  the  first  of  its  elegant  tribe :  it  grows 
along  the  borders  of  ponds  and  meres,  and  is  in  flower 
•as  soon  as  the  first  of  May.  Similar  in  beauty  to  the 
andromeda,  and  appearing  very  early  on  the  turf  that 
covers  the  edges  of  the  gray  rocks,  we  observe  a  very 
delicate  and  humble  shrub,  which,  if  it  bore  no  fruit, 
would  be  greatly  prized  for  its  flowers.  It  is  the  low 
blueberry,  one  of  the  prettiest  vernal  ornaments  of  our 
barren  hills.  It  seldom  rises  a  foot  in  height,  and  is 
gemmed  with  thick  clusters  of  little  flower-cups,  of  a 
pearly  whiteness,  slightly  tinged  with  red.  This  hum- 
;ble  shrub  is  rapidly  succeeded  by  all  the  varieties  of  the 
blueberry,  until  the  hills  are  all  glowing  with  their 
blossoms,  and  the  whole  atmosphere  is  perfumed  with 
their  fragrance.  These  are  the  shrubs  in  our  land  that 
most  nearly  resemble  the  heaths,  those  most  exquisite 
of  nature's  floral  productions,  which  are  not  to  be  found 
among  our  native  plants. 

May  opens  with  a  few  blossoms  of  the  coltsfoot,  the 
liverwort,  the  buckbean,  and  the  Solomon's  seal ;  and 
quite  a  multitude  of  a  humble  species  of  blue  violets, 
of  the  kind  that  delights  in  sprinkling  the  grassy  mounds 
in  our  country  graveyards,  are  scattered  over  the 
southern  slopes  of  the  pastures.  After  May-day,  every 
morning  sun  is  greeted  by  a  £resh  troop  of  these  little 
fairy  visitants,  until  every  knoll  sparkles  with  them,  and 
every  pathway  is  embroidered  with  them,  as  if  they 
were  planted  there  on  purpose  to  cheer  the  heart  of 
man.  At  an  early  period  the  green  pastures  are  so  full 
of  dandelions  and  buttercups,  that  they  seem  to  be 
smiling  upon  us  from  every  border.  Children  are 
always  greatly  delighted  with  these  flowers,  and  they 
cannot  look  upon  them  without  sudden  emotions  of 


MAY.  127 

cheerfulness  and  hilarity.  After  these  flowers  have 
appeared,  our  eyes,  as  they  wander  over  the  village 
landscape,  will  rest  upon  hundreds  of  young  children, 
on  a  sunny  afternoon,  who  have  left  their  active  sports, 
to  gather  these  brightest  gems  of  the  season,  with 
which  they  have  associated  many  interesting  supersti 
tious  conceits,  and  whose  novelty  gives  them  a  tenfold 
value  in  their  sight.  Soon  after  this,  the  fields  appear 
in  the  fulness  of  their  vernal  splendor ;  wild  geraniums 
in  the  borders  of  the  woods  and  copses,  white  and  yel 
low  violets,  ginsengs,  bellworts,  cornels,  silverweeds,  and 
cinque-foils  bring  up  the  rear  in  the  procession  of  May ; 
and  during  all  this  time,  those  little  flowers,  which  have 
been  very  aptly  chosen  as  the  symbols  of  innocence 
(the  Houstonia  cerulea)  commencing  in  the  latter  part  of 
April,  with  a  few  scanty  blossoms,  grow  every  day 
more  and  more  abundant,  until  their  countless  millions 
resemble  a  thin  but  interminable  wreath  of  snow-flakes, 
distributed  over  the  hills  and  plains. 

The  air,  at  this  time,  is  scented  with  every  variety  of 
perfumes,  and  every  new  path  in  our  rambling  brings 
us  into  a  new  atmosphere,  as  well  as  a  new  prospect. 
It  is  during  the  prevalence  of  a  still  south  wind,  that 
the  herbs  and  flowers  exhale  their  most  agreeable  odors. 
Plants  generate  more  fragrance  in  a  warm  air,  on 
account  of  the  greater  rapidity  of  their  growth  ;  and  if 
the  wind  is  still  and  moist,  the  odors  as  they  escape, 
do  not  rise  so  high,  and  are  not  so  widely  dissipated, 
being  retained  nearer  the  surface  of  the  earth,  by  mixing 
with  the  invisible  moisture  of  the  atmosphere.  The 
best  time  for  rambling,  if  we  would  breathe  the  sweet 
odors  of  flowers,  is  when  a  perfect  calm  prevails  among 
the  elements,  when  the  weather  is  rather  sultry,  and 


128  STUDIES   IX   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

while  the  beams  of  the  sun  are  tinged  with  a  kind  of 
ruddy  glow,  by  shining  through  an  almost  invisible 
haze.  A  blind  man  might  then  determine  by  the  per 
fumes  of  the  air,  as  he  was  led  over  the  country, 
whether  he  was  in  meadow  or  upland,  and  distinguish 
the  nature  of  the  vegetation  with  which  he  was  sur 
rounded.  There  is  a  constant  change  of  odors,  as  we 
pass  from  one  place  to  another,  and  the  fragrance  of  the 
atmosphere  yields  no  inconsiderable  part  of  the  pleasure 
of  an  excursion,  in  the  month  of  May. 

Now  let  the  dweller  in  the  city  who,  abounding  in 
all  luxurious  possessions,  sighs  for  that  contentment 
which  his  wealth  has  not  procured,  come  forth  from  the 
dust  and  confinement  of  the  town,  and  pay  a  short 
visit  to  nature  in  the  country.  Let  him  come  in  the 
afternoon,  when  the  declining  sun  casts  a  beautiful 
sheen  upon  the  tender  leaves  of  the  forest,  and  while 
tens  of  thousands  of  birds  are  chanting  in  full  chorus, 
from  an  overflow  of  those  delightful  sensations,  that  fill 
the  hearts  of  all  creatures,  who  worship  nature  in  her 
own  temples,  and  do  obedience  to  her  beneficent  laws. 
I  would  lead  him  to  a  commanding  view  of  the  lovely 
prospect,  that  he  may  gaze  awhile  upon  those  objects, 
which  he  has  so  often  admired  on  the  canvas  of  the 
artist,  exhibited  here  in  all  their  living  beauty.  While 
the  gales  are  wafting  to  his  senses  the  sweet  perfumes 
of  the  surrounding  groves  and  orchards,  and  the  notes 
of  warbling  birds  are  echoing  all  around  in  harmonious 
confusion,  I  would  point  to  him  the  neat  little  cottages, 
which  are  dotted  about,  like  palaces  of  .content  in  all 
parts  of  the  landscape.  I  would  direct  his  attention  to 
the  happy  laborers  in  the  field,  and  the  neatly  dressed, 
smiling,  ruddy,  and  playful  children,  in  their  green  and 


MAY.  129 

flowery  inclosures,  and  before  the  open  doors  of  the 
cottages.  I  would  then  ask  him  if  he  is  still  ignorant 
of  the  cause  of  his  own  unhappiness,  or  of  the  abun 
dant  sources  of  enjoyment,  which  nature  freely  offers 
for  the  participation  of  all  her  creatures. 


XVII. 

WOOD    SCENERY   IN    MAY. 


DURING  the  space  of  one  year,  the  woods  present  to 
the  eye  of  the  spectator  five  different  aspects,  corre 
sponding  with  the  infancy,  the  youth,  the  maturity,  the 
tinting,  and  the  dropping  of  the  foliage.  The  first  is 
the  appearance  assumed  by  the  woods,  when  putting 
out  their  tender  plaited  leaves  and  blossoms  in  May, 
up  to  the  time  when  they  are  fully  expanded ;  the 
second  when  nearly  all  the  trees  have  attained  their 
brightest  verdure,  as  in  June,  but  exhibit  a  nearly  uni 
form  shade ;  the  third  in  midsummer  and  later,  when 
their  verdure  is  less  brilliant,  and  when  each  species 
and  individual  have  acquired  that  particular  shade  of 
green  that  respectively  characterizes  them  ;  the  fourth 
is  the  appearance  they  assume  when  the  leaves  have 
acquired  those  variegated  tints  that  precede  their  fall, 
and  which  are  erroneously  attributed  to  the  action  of 
frost ;  the  fifth  and  last  is  the  naked  appearance  of  the 
winter  forest,  when  the  evergreens  alone  retain  their  ver 
dure.  These  ever  changing  aspects  of  the  woods  are 
sources  of  continual  pleasure  to  the  observer  of  nature, 
and  have  in  all  ages  afforded  themes  for  the  poet,  and 
subjects  for  the  painter. 


FOREST  SCENERY.  131 

Of  all  these  phases,  the  one  that  is  presented  to  the 
eye  in  the  month  of  May  is  by  far  the  most  delightful, 
on  account  of  the  infinite  variety  of  tints  and  shades 
in  the  budding  and  expanding  leaves  and  blossoms,  and 
the  poetic  relations  of  their  appearance  at  this  time  to 
one  of  the  most  agreeable  sentiments  of  the  human 
soul.  I  allude  to  the  idea  of  progression  combined 
with  the  image  of  hope  and  activity.  Nothing  adds  so 
greatly  to  the  charms  of  a  scene  in  nature,  as  any  thing 
which  is  palpably  suggestive  of  some  pleasing  moral 
sentiment.  It  is  this  quality  that  gives  half  their  beauty 
to  certain  flowers ;  and  the  unfolding  leaves  and  ripen 
ing  hues  of  vegetation  require  no  forced  effort  of  in 
genuity,  to  make  apparent  their  analogy  to  the  period 
of  youth,  and  the  season  of  hope ;  neither  are  the  fad 
ing  tints  of  autumn  any  less  suggestive  of  life's  decline. 
There  are  not  many,  however,  who  would  not  prefer 
the  lightness  of  heart  that  is  produced  by  these  emblems 
of  progression,  and  these  signals  of  the  reviving  year, 
to  the  more  poetic  sentiment  of  melancholy,  inspired 
by  the  scenes  of  autumn. 

Among  the  different  species  of  trees  and  shrubs,  there 
is  a  notable  difference  in  their  habits  of  leafing  and 
flowering ;  some  wreathing  their  flowers  upon  the  naked 
branches,  before  the  expansion  of  the  leaves,  like  the 
peach-tree,  the  elm,  and  the  maple ;  others  putting  forth 
their  leaves  and  flowers  simultaneously,  like  the  apple- 
tree  and  the  cherry;  others  acquiring  their  full  green 
vesture,  before  the  appearance  of  their  flowers,  as  the 
lilac,  the  elder,  the  rose,  and  the  viburnum.  When  we 
observe  these  multiplied  and  beautiful  arrangements,  we 
cannot  avoid  associating  them  with  the  benevolence  of 
nature ;  and  we  are  prone  to  regard  her  as  an  affec 
tionate  parent  who  has  instituted  these  phenomena,  in 


132  STUDIES   IN  THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

order  to  present  at  all  times  the  greatest  amount  of 
beauty  to  the  eye,  and  to  guard  us  from  all  that  weari 
ness  that  is  sure  to  follow  the  long  continuance  of  one 
unchangeable  source  of  pleasure. 

There  is  manifestly  some  connection  between  the 
tints  of  the  half  developed  spring  foliage,  and  those  we 
observe  in  the  decline  of  the  year.  The  leaves  of 
nearly  all  the  trees  and  shrubs  that  are  brightly  colored 
in  autumn,  present  a  similar  variety  of  tints  in  their 
tender-plaited  foliage  in  May.  This  is  very  remarkable 
in  the  different  species  of  the  oak,  whose  half-developed 
leaves  are  deeply  marked  with  purple,  violet,  and  yel 
low  stains,  that  fade  entirely  out  as  the  leaf  ripens  and 
expands.  Similar  hues  may  be  observed  in  the  tender 
branches  of  many  shrubs,  as  in  those  of  the  sumach, 
before  they  are  hardened  into  wood.  The  young  leaves 
of  the  whortleberry  bushes,  of  the  cornels,  the  sumachs, 
and  viburnums,  all  brightly  tinted  in  autumn,  with  pur 
ple,  crimson,  and  orange,  exhibit  lighter  shades  of  the 
same  colors  in  their  half  expanded  foliage. 

The  locust,  on  the  contrary,  unmarked  by  a  single 
tint  in  the  autumn,  is  seen  arrayed  in  a  light  verditure 
at  this  season,  unmixed  with  any  other  hues.  The  wil 
lows  that  incline  to  yellow  after  the  harvest,  show,  in 
their  vernal  leaf,  the  same  yellow  tinge,  that  gives  them 
a  remarkably  lively  hue.  Their  golden  aments  add  to 
this  brilliancy,  which  is  also  in  harmony  with  their  light 
green  and  silvery  spray.  The  birches  have  the  same 
brilliant  verdure,  contrasted  with  the  dark  purple  of 
their  small  branches,  that  renders  their  hues  the  more 
distinct  and  beautiful.  It  is  all  these  different  tenden 
cies  in  the  hues  of  the  expanding  foliage,  that  afford 
the  woods  such  a  charming  variety  of  shades  during 
the  present  month ;  and  it  seems  to  be  the  design  of 


FOREST   SCENERY.  133 

nature  to  foretoken,  in  the  infancy  of  the  plants,  some 
of  those  habits  that  mark  both  their  maturity  and  their 
decline,  by  giving  them  a  faint  shade  of  those  colors 
that  distinguish  them  in  autumn. 

If  we  take  our  stand  on  an  elevation  that  overlooks 
an  extensively  wooded  country,  which  is  diversified 
with  way-side  trees  and  orchards,  we  may  witness  the 
full  charm  of  this  variety.  The  elms,  which  in  this 
part  of  the  country  are  chiefly  found  by  our  road  sides, 
and  in  the  inclosures  of  our  dwellings,  have  shed  their 
brown  and  purple  blossoms ;  and  their  light  green  foli 
age,  varying  greatly  in  individuals,  is  mostly  observed] 
in  solitary  masses,  or  in  occasional  rows  along  the 
streets.  The  elm  is  in  the  perfection  of  its  beauty  at 
this  time,  when  its  verdure  is  marked  by  a  brilliancy 
that  fades  before  midsummer.  After  June,,  the  foliage 
of  the  elm  is  dull  and  lifeless  in  its  hues ;  and  the  tree 
is  beautiful  only  on  account  of  the  flowing  outline  and 
graceful  sweep  of  its  branches. 

If  we  next  turn  our  eyes  upon  the  woods,  we  may 
behold  a  spectacle  of  infinitely  varied  splendor.  Masses- 
of  purple  and  cinereous  foliage  are  presented  by  the 
oaks,  enlivened  by  the  bright  green  aments,  that  hang- 
luxuriantly  from  their  branches.  Among  them  are- 
interspersed  the  purer  and  more  lively  green  of  the 
beech-trees,  rendered  still  more  light  and  airy  by  their 
pale  ashen  stems ;  also  the  slender  spiry  forms  of  the 
birch,  whose  purple  sprays  afford  by  contrast,  a  peculiar- 
lustre  to  their  shining  verdure,  from  the  lofty  black  birchi 
that  overtops  the  other  forest  groups,  to  the  graceful 
coppices  of  white  birch,  whose  leaves  already  exhibit 
their  tremulous  habit,  when  fanned  by  the  passing* 
winds. 

Though  we  cannot  find  in  May  those  brilliant  colors 
12 


134  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

among  the  leaves  of  the  forest  trees,  which  are  the 
crowning  glory  of  autumn,  yet  the  present  month  is 
more  abundant  in  contrasts  than  any  other  period. 
These  contrasts  increase  in  beauty  and  variety  until 
about  the  first  of  June.  In  early  May,  set  apart  from 
the  general  nakedness  of  the  woods,  may  be  seen,  here 
and  there,  a  clump  of  willows  full  of  bright  golden 
aments,  maples  with  buds,  blossoms,  and  foliage  of 
crimson,  and  interspersed  among  them,  junipers,  hem 
locks,  and  other  evergreens,  that  stand  out  from  their 
assemblages,  like  the  natives  of  another  clime.  As 
the  month  advances,  while  these  contrasts  remain,  new 
ones  are  continually  appearing,  as  one  tree  after  another 
assumes  its  vernal  drapery,  each  exhibiting  a  tint 
peculiar  not  only  to  the  species,  but  often  to  the  indi 
vidual  and  the  situation,  until  hardly  two  trees  in  the 
whole  wood  are  alike  in  color.  As  the  foliage  ripens, 
the  different  shades  of  green  become  more  thoroughly 
blended  into  a  single  uniform  tint.  But  ere  the  process 
is  completed,  the  fruit-trees  have  expanded  their  blos 
soms,  and  have  brought  a  new  spectacle  of  contrasts 
into  view.  First  of  all,  the  peach-trees  with  their  bright 
pink  flowers,  that  appear  before  the  leaves,  and  cause 
the  tree  to  resemble  a  single  and  uniform  bouquet: 
then  the  pear-trees,  with  corols  of  perfect  whiteness, 
internally  fringed  with  brown  anthers,  like  long  dark 
eyelashesr  that  give  them  almost  the  countenance  of 
life ;  then  the  cherry-trees,  with  their  pure  white  blos 
soms,  thickly  enveloped  in  green  foliage ;  and  last  of 
all,  the  apple-trees,  with  blossoms  of  every  variety  of 
shade,  between  a  bright  crimson  or  purple  and  a  pure 
white,  all  come  forth,  one  after  another,  until  the  whole 
landscape  seems  to  be  wreathed  in  bloom. 

During  the  last  week  in  May,  were  you  to  stand  on 


FOREST   SCENERY.  135 

an  eminence  that  commands  an  extensive  view  of  the 
country,  you  would  be  persuaded  that  the  prospect  is 
far  more  magnificent  than  at  midsummer.  At  this 
time  you  look  not  upon  individuals,  but  groups.  Before 
you  lies  an  ample  meadow,  nearly  destitute  of  trees 
except  a  few  noble  elms,  standing  in  their  blended 
majesty  and  beauty,  combining  in  their  forms  the  grace 
fulness  of  the  palm  with  the  grandeur  of  the  oak  ;  here 
and  there  a  clump  of  pines,  and  long  rows  of  birches, 
willows  and  alders  bordering  the  streams  that  glide 
along  the  valley,  and  exhibiting  every  shade  of  green 
ness  in  their  foliage.  In  all  parts  of  the  prospect, 
separated  by  square  fields  of  tillage  of  lighter  or  darker 
verdure,  according  to  the  nature  of  their  crops,  you 
behold  numerous  orchards,  some  on  the  hill-side  receiv 
ing  the  direct  beams  of  the  sun,  and  others  on  level 
ground,  exhibiting  their  shady  rows  with  their  flowers 
just  in  that  state  of  advancement  that  serves  to  show 
the  budding  trees,  which  are  red  and  purple,  in  beauti 
ful  opposition  to  the  fully  blown  trees,  which  are  white. 
Such  spectacles  of  flowering  orchards  are  seen  in  all 
parts  of  the  country,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  along 
the  thinly  inhabited  road  sides  and  farms. 

The  effect  produced  by  the  flowering  of  trees  is  less 
conspicuous  in  our  forests  than  in  our  orchards  and 
gardens;  but  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  Florida 
cornel,  rising  up  amidst  the  variegated  masses  of  forest 
verdure,  attracts  the  attention  of  every  traveller.  The 
flowering  trees  of  our  forests  are  chiefly  of  the  amen 
taceous  tribes,  whose  flowers  serve  rather  to  add  gayety 
and  variety  to  their  tints,  than  any  positive  beauty  of 
colors.  Among  the  shrubbery,  however,  there  are  many 
species  that  are  made  attractive  by  their  blossoms,  and 
yield  to  the  pastures  and  coppices  a  more  beautiful 


136  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

appearance  than  any  thing  we  have  observed  in  the 
woods.  While  the  woods  are  still  gleaming  with  the 
variegated  tints  of  the  sprouting  foliage,  you  may  behold, 
rising  up  in  solitary  brightness,  arrayed  with  a  pro 
fusion  of  white  flowers  and  silvery  green  leaves,  the  tall 
branches  of  the  swamp  pyrus,  a  shrub  that  bears  the 
earliest  flowers  and  fruits  of  the  forest.  The  pyrus  is 
the  forerunner  of  many  beautiful  flowering  shrubs. 
After  this  appear  in  succession  the  common  thorn,  with 
its  white  rosaceous  flowers  in  lovely  circular  clusters ; 
the  barberry,  with  its  golden  racemes  fringing  the 
branches  from  their  extremities,  almost  to  their  roots ; 
the  wild  dwarf  cherry,  with  its  spikes  of  gaudy  but 
delicate  blossoms  arranged  fantastically  at  right  angles 
with  the  twigs  that  support  them ;  —  all  these  appear 
one  after  another,  until  at  length,  as  if  nature  was 
desirous  of  concentrating  all  our  admiration  upon  a 
single  plant,  appears  the  beautiful  Canadian  rhodora, 
which  marks  the  era  of  the  departure  of  spring,  and  the 
commencement  of  the  reign  of  summer. 

In  striking  opposition  to  the  scenes  I  have  described, 
we  may  observe  in  different  parts  of  the  country  a 
densely  wooded  swamp,  with  the  tops  of  the  trees 
hardly  towering  above  the  level  of  the  surrounding 
landscape,  covered  with  the  dark  green  sombre  foliage 
of  northern  cypresses.  Even  this  renders  the  remain 
ing  prospect  more  cheerful,  by  acting  as  a  foil  to  the 
pleasant  scenes  that  everywhere  surround  us.  The 
very  notes  of  the  birds  seem  to  harmonize  with  the 
character  of  the  wood,  and  serve  to  enliven  the  con 
trasts  that  are  presented  to  the  eye.  In  the  open  flow 
ery  plain  we  hear  thousands  of  chattering  and  musical 
birds  —  the  wren  in  the  gardens,  the  merry  bobolink  in 
the  grassy  meadows,  and  the  oriole  among  the  bios- 


FOREST   SCENERY.  137 

soms  of  the  fruit-trees,  while  from  the  dark  cypress 
groves  we  hear  the  scream  of  the  jay,  the  cawing  of  the 
raven,  blended  occasionally  with  the  liquid  notes  of  the 
sylvias  and  solitary  thrushes. 

By  making  such  observations,  one  may  be  satisfied 
that  upon  our  barren  hills  nothing  could  be  substituted, 
that  would  equal  in  any  respect  of  beauty  and  orna 
ment,  the  trees  and  shrubs  which  are  indigenous  to  the 
situation.  The  practice  of  Great  Britain,  operating 
as  an  example  to  American  improvers,  has  been  fatal 
to  the  beauty  of  many  a  delightful  spot  in  our  own 
country.  The  native  garniture  of  our  own  fields,  mod 
ified  by  the  hand  of  man,  as  exemplified  in  certain 
tracts  to  be  seen  in  every  old  settlement,  exceeds  all 
which  the  combined  wealth  and  taste  of  Great  Britain 
could  rear  in  the  place  of  it.  Vain  are  all  attempts  to 
improve  the  face  of  nature  by  dressing  her  in  ornaments 
borrowed  from  a  foreign  clime.  That  taste  which  rec 
ommends  a  system  of  improvements  based  upon  any 
principle,  save  that  of  preserving  the  whole  indigenous 
growth  of  our  fields  and  woods,  is  barbarous,  and  will 
ultimately  be  spurned  with  indignation,  by  every  true 
lover  of  beauty  and  of  nature. 

12* 


XVIII. 

ON    MULTIPLYING    THE    BIRDS    AROUND 
OUR    DWELLINGS. 


THE  presence  of  birds  as  companions  of  a  country 
residence  is  considered  by  all  a  desirable  circumstance, 
second  only  to  woods,  flowers,  green  fields,  and  the 
general  advantages  of  prospect.  Without  birds,  the 
landscape,  if  not  wanting  in  beauty,  would  lack  some 
thing  which  is  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  all  men 
who  are  elevated  above  a  state  of  gross  sensualism.  It 
is  indeed  highly  probable  that  nature  owes  more  to  the 
lively  motions,  songs,  and  chattering  of  birds,  for  the 
influence  of  her  charms,  than  to  any  other  single  accom 
paniment  of  terrestial  scenery.  They  are  so  intimately 
associated  with  all  that  is  delightful  in  field  and  forest, 
with  our  early  walks  in  the  morning,  our  rest  at  noon 
day,  and  our  meditations  at  sunset,  with  the  trees  that 
spread  their  branches  over  our  heads,  and  the  vines  and 
delicate  mosses  at  our  feet,  that  it  is  difficult  to  think 
of  the  one  apart  from  the  others.  Through  the  voices 
of  birds  nature  may  be  said  to  speak  to  us,  and  without 
them  she  would  be  but  a  dumb  companion,  whose 
beauty  could  hardly  be  felt. 

It  is  customary,  when  speaking  of  the  advantages  of 


BIRDS   AROUND    OUR  DWELLINGS.  139 

birds,  to  treat  of  them  as  they  have  relation  to  the  agri 
cultural  interest.  Admitting  the  value  of  almost  every 
species  as  destroyers  of  insects,  I  am  disposed  to  con 
sider  their  importance  in  this  respect  as  only  secondary 
to  that  which  regards  their  pleasant  companionship 
with  man.  Hence  it  is  a  matter  of  no  small  conse 
quence  to  use  the  best  means  that  have  been  discovered, 
to  preserve  the  birds  from  destruction,  and  to  multiply 
them  about  our  dwellings.  Very  little  attention  has 
been  paid  to  this  subject.  A  few  laws  have  been  made 
for  their  preservation ;  but  these  have  seldom  been  en 
forced.  Occasionally  a  paragraph  in  the  newspapers 
has  pleaded  for  their  protection ;  but  as  yet  no  full  and 
elaborate  essay,  devoted  to  this  object,  has  made  its  ap 
pearance.  I  believe  the  farmer  would  promote  his  own 
thrift  by  extending  a  watchful  care  over  the  lives  of 
every  species  of  birds ;  but  the  smaller  tribes  are  con 
sidered  the  most  useful.  And  it  would  seem  as  if  na 
ture  had  given  them  their  beauty  of  plumage,  and 
endowed  them  with  song,  on  purpose  to  render  them 
attractive,  that  man  might  thereby  be  induced  to  preserve 
a  race  of  creatures  so  necessary  to  his  pleasures,  and  so 
valuable  to  his  interest. 

There  are  two  methods  of  preserving  the  birds :  the 
first  consists  in  omitting  to  destroy  them ;  the  second  in 
promoting  the  growth  of  certain  trees,  shrubs,  and 
other  plants  on  which  they  depend  for  shelter  and  sub 
sistence.  The  birds,  considered  in  relation  to  trees  and 
shrubbery,  may  be  divided  into  two  classes.  First,  the 
familiar  birds  that  live  in  our  orchards  and  gardens,  and 
increase  in  numbers  in  proportion  as  the  woods  are 
cleared,  and  the  lands  devoted  to  tillage.  To  this  class 
belong  several  of  our  sparrows,  the  wren,  the  bluebird, 
the  American  robin,  the  bobolink,  the  linnet,  the  yellow- 


140  STUDIES   IN  THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

bird,  and  some  others.  The  second  are  the  less  familiar 
birds  that  frequent  the  woods  and  wild  pastures,  and 
which  would  probably  be  exterminated  by  reducing  the 
whole  forest  to  park  or  tillage.  Among  these  may  be 
named  the  little  wood-sparrow,  one  of  the  sweetest 
of  American  songsters,  nearly  all  the  thrushes,  the 
towee-finch,  and  many  of  the  sylvias,  and  wood 
peckers. 

To  preserve  the  first  of  these  species  little  is  neces 
sary  to  be  done  except  to  avoid  destroying  them ;  but 
to  insure  the  multiplication  of  the  second,  we  must 
study  their  haunts,  the  substances  provided  by  nature 
for  their  food,  the  plants  that  afford  them  shelter,  and  to 
a  certain  extent  labor  to  preserve  all  these  for  their  use. 
The  little  wood-sparrow  is  never  heard  in  the  heart  of 
our  villages,  unless  they  are  closely  surrounded  by 
woods.  Yet  this  bird  does  not  live  in  the  woods.  He 
frequents  the  pastures  which  are  overgrown  with  wild 
shrubs,  and  their  undergrowth  of  vines,  mosses,  and 
ferns,  that  unite  them  imperceptibly  with  the  green 
sward  by  which  they  are  surrounded.  He  is  always 
found  in  the  whortleberry  pastures,  and  probably  makes 
his  repast  on  these  simple  fruits,  in  their  season.  He 
builds  his  nest  an  the  ground,  in  a  mossy  knoll,  under 
the  protection  of  a  thicket.  Every  bird  is  more  or  less 
attached  to  a  particular  character  of  grounds  and 
shrubbery ;  and  if  we  destroy  this  character,  we  drive 
this  particular  species  from  our  neighborhood,  to  seek  in 
other  places  its  natural  habitats.  Hence  we  may 
account  for  the  comparative  silence  that  pervades  the 
grounds  of  some  of  our  most  admired  country-seats ; 
for  with  respect  to  the  wants  of  even  our  most  familiar 
birds,  it  is  possible  that  cultivation  may  be  carried  too 
far. 


BIRDS   ABOUND   OUR  DWELLINGS.  141 

There  is  no  danger  that,  for  many  years  to  come,  our 
lands  will  be  so  entirely  stripped  of  their  native  growth 
of  herbs,  trees,  and  shrubs,  as  to  leave  the  birds  without 
their  natural  shelter.  But  there  is  danger  that  they  may 
be  wholly  driven  out  of  particular  localities,  and  that 
the  inhabitants  may  thereby  be  deprived  of  the  presence 
of  many  delightful  warblers.  In  all  the  densely  popu 
lated  districts,  the  want  of  them  would  be  the  more 
painfully  felt,  because  they  contain  a  greater  number  of 
cultivated  people  who  can  appreciate  these  blessings  of 
nature.  Let  us  then  proceed  in  our  inquiry  concerning 
the  means  by  which  we  may  multiply  the  birds  around 
our  habitations. 

In  every  locality  in  which  all  the  native  species  of 
birds  are  abundant,  we  find  the  following  conditions :  — 
First,  there  is  a  large  proportion  of  cultivated  land,  nu 
merous  and  thrifty  orchards,  extensive  fields  of  grass 
and  grain,  all  well  provided  with  watercourses.  When 
these  conditions  are  present,  the  familiar  birds  already 
named  will  be  numerous.  If  these  cultivated  lands  are 
intermingled  with  pastures  abounding  in  thickets  and 
wild  shrubbery,  and  all  the  indigenous  undergrowth  be 
longing  to  the  same,  we  may  then  hear  the  voices  of  the 
less  familiar  birds,  which  are  in  many  respects  superior 
in  song  to  the  tenants  of  our  orchards  and  gardens. 
Wild  shrubbery  and  its  carpet  of  grasses,  vines,  mosses, 
and  other  cryptogamous  plants,  form  the  condition  that 
is  necessary  to  the  preservation  of  the  half-familiar 
tribes.  If,  with  all  these  circumstances,  the  land  has  a 
good  proportion  of  wood  in  its  primitive  state,  or  in 
one  resembling  it,  not  divested  of  its  undergrowth,  con 
taining  a  large  variety  of  oaks,  maples,  pines,  junipers, 
sumachs,  and  cornels,  we  may  find  the  wood-thrush,  the 
hermit-thrush,  the  redstart,  the  oven-bird,  the  creeper, 


142  STUDIES  IN   THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

the  jay,  and  woodpeckers  of  various  species  whose 
habitats  are  the  wild  woods. 

Among  the  shrubs  that  are  most  useful  to  the  birds 
may  be  named  in  general  all  that  produce  a  wholesome 
seed  or  fruit.  The  viburnums,  the  cornels,  all  the 
species  of  the  whortleberry  tribe,  the  elder,  the  Celas- 
trus  scandens,  and  the  common  sumachs,  are  always 
abundant  where  there  are  goodly  numbers  of  the  less 
familiar  birds.  Among  the  herbs  and  smaller  plants 
that  are  useful  to  them  are  the  Solomon's  seal,  the 
partridge  berry,  the  Mitchella  repens,  the  dewberry,  or 
evergreen  blackberry,  and  all  the  indigenous  grasses. 
If  we  clear  our  woods  of  their  undergrowth,  and  con 
vert  them  into  parks,  we  do  in  the  same  proportion 
diminish  the  numbers  of  certain  species  of  birds.  A 
partial  clearing  is  undoubtedly  beneficial  even  to  the 
most  solitary  tribes,  by  promoting  a  greater  variety  of 
vegetation.  But  the  removal  of  all  this  miscellaneous 
undergrowth  would  serve  as  effectually  to  banish  the 
red-thrush,  the  catbird,  the  wood  and  hermit-thrush,  and 
many  species  of  sylvias,  as  we  should  extirpate  the 
squirrels  by  destroying  all  the  oaks,  beeches,  hazels, 
hickories,  and  chestnuts. 

One  of  the  principal  ornaments  of  a  country-seat  is 
lawn.  A  smooth  shaven  green  is  delightful  to  the  eye, 
at  all  times,  especially  when  just  emerging  from  the 
city,  or  after  one  has  been  for  some  hours  rambling 
among  the  rude  scenes  of  nature.  But  lawn  is  a 
luxury  that  is  obtained  at  the  expense  of  all  birds  that 
nestle  in  the  ground  and  the  low  shrubbery.  The 
scythe  may  be  as  great  an  exterminator  of  such  birds, 
as  the  gun  of  the  fowler.  The  song  sparrows  build 
their  nest  upon  the  ground,  in  the  most  familiar  places, 
where  they  can  feel  secure  from  disturbance.  Not  a 


BIRDS   AROUND   OUR  DWELLINGS.  143 

rod  from  our  dwellings  these  little  birds  may  have  their 
nests,  if  the  right  conditions  are  there.  They  are  com 
monly  built  on  the  side  of  a  mound,  where  the  grasses 
and  mosses  are  overrun  with  blackberry  vines  and  wild 
rose-bushes.  Familiar  as  they  are,  they  do  not  nestle 
among  exotics.  He  who  would  entice  them  to  breed  in 
his  inclosures  must  not  be  too  particular  in  preserving 
that  kind  of  neatness  in  his  grounds,  which  consists  in 
eradicating  every  native  shrub  and  wild  briar,  as  a  use 
less  weed. 

Hedge-rows,  though  often  ignorantly  supposed  to  be 
the  nurseries  of  birds,  are  really  great  checks  to  their 
multiplication.  A  hedge-row  cannot  be  well  maintained 
without  care  in  keeping  its  roots  clear  of  grass  and 
other  herbage,  which  are  important  to  the  birds ;  and 
the  habit  of  clipping  it  renders  it  almost  barren  of  fruit. 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that,  for  pleasing  effects,  no  less 
than  for  the  benefit  of  the  birds,  the  most  desirable 
fence  is  one  made  of  rough  small  timber  passed  through 
upright  posts.  I  would  then  encourage  the  growth  of 
all  kinds  of  native  shrubbery,  on  each  side  of  it,  form 
ing  a  miscellaneous  hedge,  the  more  agreeable  because 
unshorn  by  art.  It  is  this  spontaneous  growth  of  shrub 
bery  and  other  wild  plants  that  constitutes  one  of  the 
picturesque  charms  of  the  old  New  England  stonewall. 
We  seldom  see  one  that  is  not  covered  on  each  side, 
more  or  less,  with  roses,  brambles,  spiraa,  viburnums, 
and  other  native  vines  and  shrubs,  so  that  in,  some  of 
our  open  fields,  the  stonewalls,  with  their  accompani 
ment  of  vines,  flowers,  and  shrubbery,  are  the  most 
attractive  objects  in  the  landscape.  Along  the  base  of 
these  walls,  where  the  plough  does  not  reach,  nature 
calls  out  the  rue-leaved  anemone,  the  violet,  the  cranes- 
bill,  the  bellwort,  the  delicate  pink  convolvulus,  and 


144  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

many  other  native  flowers  of  exceeding  beauty,  while 
the  rest  of  the  field  is  devoted  to  tillage. 

An  ignorant  agricultural  boor,  whose  mind  was  never 
taught  to  stray  beyond  the  barnyard  or  potato-patch, 
might  grudge  nature  this  narrow  strip  on  each  side  of 
his  fences,  though  she  never  fails  to  crowd  it  with 
beauty.  I  have  seen  indeed  intelligent  farmers  who 
seemed  to  consider  it  an  offence  against  neatness  and 
order,  to  allow  nature  these  little  privileges,  and  who 
employed  their  hired  men  to  keep  down  every  plant  that 
dared  to  peep  out  from  underneath  the  fence,  without  a 
license  from  the  cultivator.  By  encouraging  this  mis 
cellaneous  growth  of  woody  and  herbaceous  plants  on 
each  side  of  every  rustic  fence,  we  provide  an  important 
means  of  security  for  the  birds,  and  supply  them,  in  the 
close  vicinity  of  our  dwellings,  with  an  abundance  of 
those  seeds  and  berries  which  are  necessary  for  their 
subsistence. 

Such  a  miscellaneous  hedge-row  would  constitute  a 
perfect  aviary  for  certain  species  of  birds ;  and  the  ad 
vantages  they  would  confer  upon  the  farmer,  by  ridding 
his  land  of  noxious  insects,  would  amply  compensate 
for  the  space  thus  left  unimproved.  The  farmer  seldom 
raises  any  crops  in  this  narrow  space ;  but,  like  the  dog 
in  the  manger,  he  neither  uses  it  himself  nor  will  he 
leave  it  to  nature  and  the  birds.  Once  in  two  or  three 
years,  he  lets  a  fire  run  over  it ;  or,  at  an  expense  which 
is  entirely  useless  to  himself,  he  wantonly  cuts  down 
every  beautiful  thing  that  springs  up  there  to  remind 
him,  while  employed  in  the  labors  of  the  field,  of  the 
primitive  charms  of  nature. 

A  common  hedge-row  would  occupy  as  much  space 
as  this  rustic  fence,  including  the  plants  on  each  side  of 
it;  and  no  clipped  hedge-row  could  be  made  half  so 


BIRDS   AROUND   OUR   DWELLINGS.  145 

beautiful  as  one  formed  by  this  wild  thicket  of  vines 
and  bushes,  growing  at  liberty,  and  wreathing  an  end 
less  variety  of  blossoms  and  foliage  around  and  over 
the  fence.  Then  might  we  hear  the  notes  of  the  wood- 
sparrow  and  the  yellow-throat  in  the  very  centre  of  our 
villages,  and  hundreds  of  little  birds  of  different  species 
would  cheer  us  by  their  warbling,  where  at  present  only 
an  occasional  solitary  one  is  seen.  From  the  windows 
of  our  dwelling-houses  we  might  also  observe  the  habits 
of  many  rare  birds  that  would  soon  acquire  an  un 
wonted  familiarity,  by  having  their  abodes  in  the  busy 
neighborhood  of  man. 

By  thus  extending  our  protection  to  the  birds  we- 
make  no  sacrifice  of  land,  and  we  lay  the  foundation, 
for  certain  contrasts,  that  must  affect  every  beholder 
with  a  pleasing  emotion.  A  happy  contrast  is  one  of 
the  most  striking  circumstances  either  in  a  landscape 
or  a  work  of  art.  Hence  rugged  hills,  rising  suddenly 
out  of  a  level  and  fertile  plain,  are  more  interesting 
than  general  undulations  of  surface;  and  how  much, 
soever  we  may  admire  a  tract  of  land  in  a  high  state  of 
improvement,  it  is  delightful  while  rambling  over  it  to 
find  a  little  miniature  wilderness,  or  a  plat  of  ground 
covered  with  the  spontaneous  productions  of  nature- 
It  is  equally  pleasing,  on  the  other  hand,  when  we  are- 
roaming  a  forest,  where  every  thing  that  grows  is  wild 
and  primitive,  and  where  the  only  birds  we  hear  are  the 
shy  and  timid  thrushes  and  sylvias,  to  encounter  a  little- 
farm  in  a  perfect  state  of  cultivation,  and  a  neat  cottage,, 
surrounded  by  the  familiar  birds  of  our  orchards  and 
gardens.  These  strips  of  wild  vegetation  bordering  the 
fences  would  form  a  pleasant  contrast  with  the  culti 
vated  lands,  and  the  contrast  would  be  beautiful  in  pro- 

ia 


146  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

portion  to  the  entire  primitive  character  of  the  one  and 
the  high  state  of  improvement  of  the  other. 

From  the  earliest  period  of  our  history,  it  has  been 
customary  among  our  people  to  encourage  the  multi 
plication  of  swallows,  by  the  erection  of  bird-houses  in 
their  gardens  and  inclosures.  This  custom  was  prob 
ably  derived  from  the  aborigines,  who  were  in  the  habit 
of  furnishing  a  hospitable  retreat  for  the  purple  martin, 
by  fixing  hollow  gourds  or  calabashes  upon  the  branches 
of  trees  near  their  cabins.  It  is  generally  believed  that 
these  active  little  birds  serve,  by  their  unceasing  annoy 
ances,  to  drive  away  the  hawks  and  crows  from  their 
vicinity,  performing  thereby  an  essential  service  to  the 
farmer.  This  pleasing  and  useful  custom  has  of  late 
years  grown  unaccountably  into  disuse.  The  chatter 
ing  of  swallows  is  one  of  the  delightful  accompani 
ments  of  a  vernal  morning;  and  that  of  the  martin,  in 
particular,  is  the  most  enlivening  of  all  sounds  from 
animated  nature.  As  the  birds  of  the  swallow  tribe 
subsist  upon  insects  that  inhabit  the  atmosphere,  it  is 
not  in  our  power  to  increase  their  means  of  subsistence. 
Hence  the  only  means  we  can  use  for  increasing  their 
numbers  is  to  supply  them  with  a  shelter  and  retreat. 
By  such  appliances  it  would  be  easy  to  keep  their  num 
bers  up  to  a  level  with  the  quantities  of  insects  that 
constitute  their  prey. 

The  wren  and  the  bluebird  are  encouraged  by  simi 
lar  accommodations.  But  as  these  birds  are  not  social 
in  their  habits,  a  separate  box  must  be  supplied  for  each 
pair  of  birds.  The  wren  is  an  indefatigable  destroyer 
of  insects,  and  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  our  fa 
miliar  songsters,  singing  like  the  vireo,  during  the  heat 
of  the  day,  when  most  other  birds  are  silent.  The  blue- 


BIKDS   AROUND   OUR  DWELLINGS.  147 

bird,  which  is  hardly  less  familiar,  delights  in  the  hollow 
branch  of  an  old  tree  in  the  orchard,  but  would  be 
equally  satisfied  with  an  artificial  imitation  of  the  rude 
conveniences  supplied  him  by  nature. 

If  we  observe  all  these  requirements,  when  employed 
in  tilling  a  farm  or  in  laying  out  a  country-seat,  we  do 
but  avoid  the  destruction  of  those  beautiful  relations 
which  nature  has  established  throughout  the  earth. 
The  plough  and  the  scythe  rnay  do  their  work  for  man, 
without  interfering  with  the  wants  of  those  creatures 
whom  nature  has  appointed  as  the  enliveners  of  his 
toil.  Every  estate  might  be  made  to  represent  the 
whole  country,  in  its  tilled  fields  and  cultivated  lawn, 
with  their  proper  admixture  of  forest,  thicket,  and  primi 
tive  herbage.  Then,  while  sitting  at  our  windows,  the 
eye  would  be  delighted  by  the  sight  of  little  coppices 
of  wild  shrubbery,  with  their  undergrowth  of  mosses, 
ferns,  and  Christmas  evergreens,  rising  in  the  midst  of 
the  smooth  lawn,  and  in  charming  opposition  to  the 
flower  beds,  that  are  distributed  in  other  parts  of  the 
ground.  In  these  miniature  wilds,  the  small  birds 
would  find  a  shelter,  suited  to  all  their  wants  and  in 
stincts,  and  in  return  for  our  hospitality,  would  act  as 
the  sentinels  of  our  orchards  and  gardens,  and  the 
musicians  to  attend  us  in  our  daily  labor  and  recrea 
tions. 


XIX. 

JUNE. 


ALREADY  do  we  feel  the  influence  of  a  more  genial 
sky ;  a  maturer  verdure  gleams  from  every  part  of  the 
landscape,  and  a  prouder  assemblage  of  wild  flowers 
reminds  us  of  the  arrival  of  summer.  The  balmy  south 
west  reigns  the  undisturbed  monarch  of  the  weather; 
the  chill  breezes  rest  quietly  upon  the  serene  bosom  of 
the  deep,  and  the  ocean,  as  tranquil  as  the  blue  canopy 
of  heaven,  yields  itself  to  the  warm  influences  of  the 
summer  sun,  as  if  it  were  conscious  of  the  blessing  of 
his  beams.  The  sun  rides,  like  a  proud  conqueror,  over 
three  quarters  of  the  heavens ;  and  as  if  delighted  with 
his  victory  over  the  darkness,  smiles  with  unwonted  com 
placency  upon  the  beautiful  things  which  are  rejoicing 
in  his  presence.  Twilight  refuses  to  leave  the  brows  of 
night ;  and  her  morning  and  evening  rays  meet  and  blend 
together  at  midnight,  beneath  the  polar  sphere.  She 
twines  her  celestial  rosy  wreaths  around  the  bosoms  of 
the  clouds,  that  rival  in  beauty  the  terrestrial  garlands  of 
summer.  The  earth  and  the  sky  seem  to  emulate  each 
other  in  their  attempts  to  beautify  the  temples  of  nature 
and  of  the  Deity;  and  while  the  one  is  hanging  out  her 
drapery  of  silver  and  vermilion  over  the  sapphirine  arches 


JUNE.  149 

of  the  firmament ;  the  other  is  spangling  the  green 
plains  and  mountains  with  living  gems  of  every  hue, 
and  crowns  the  whole  landscape  with  lilies  and  roses. 

The  mornings  and  evenings  have  acquired  a  delight 
ful  temperature,  that  invites  us  to  rise  prematurely  from 
our  repose,  to  enjoy  the  greater  luxury  of  the  balmy 
breezes.  The  dews  hang  heavily  upon  the  herbage, 
and  the  white  frosts  have  gone  away  to  join  the  proces 
sion  of  the  chill  autumnal  nights.  The  little  modest 
spring  flowers  are  half  hidden  beneath  the  prouder  foli 
age  of  the  flowers  of  summer ;  the  violets  can  hardly  look 
upon  you  from  under  the  broad  leaves  of  the  fern  ;  and 
the  anemones,  like  some  little  unpretending  beauty  in 
the  midst  of  a  glittering  crowd,  are  scarcely  observed  as 
they  are  fast  fading  beneath  the  shade  of  the  tall  shrub 
bery.  The  voice  of  the  early  song  sparrow  and  the 
tender  warbling  of  the  bluebird,  are  but  faintly  audi 
ble  amidst  the  chorus  of  louder  warblers ;  the  myriads 
of  piping  creatures  are  silent  in  the  wet  places,  and  the 
tree-frogs,  having  taken  up  their  song,  make  a  constant 
melodious  croaking,  after  nightfall  from  the  wooded 
swamps.  The  summer  birds  have  all  arrived ;  their 
warbling  resounds  from  every  nook  and  dell ;  thousands 
of  their  nests  are  concealed  in  every  grove  and  orchard, 
among  the  branches  of  the  tree's,  or  on  the  ground 
beneath  a  tuft  of  shrubbery  ;  egg-shells,  .of  various  hues, 
are  cast  out  of  their  nests,  and  the  callow  young  lie  in 
the  open  air,  exposed  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  genial 
month  of  June. 

The  season  of  anticipation  has  passed  away ;  the 
early  month  of  fruition  has  come ;  the  hopes  of  our 
vernal  morning  have  ripened  into  realities ;  we  no 
longer  look  into  the  future  for  our  enjoyments,  but  we 
revel  at  length  in  all  those  pleasures,  from  which  we 

13* 


150  STUDIES   IN  THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

expected  to  derive  a  perfect  satisfaction.     The  month 
of  June  is  emblematical  of  the  period  of  life  that  im 
mediately  succeeds  the  departure  of  youth,  when   all 
our  sources  of  enjoyment  are  most  abundant,  and  our 
-capacity  for  the  higher  kinds  of  pleasures  has  attained 
maturity,  and  when  the  only  circumstance  that  damps 
•our  feelings,  is  the  absence  of  that  lightness  of  heart, 
.arising  from  a  hopeful  .looking  forward  to  the  future. 
Our  manhood  and  our  summer  have  arrived ;  but  <our 
youth  and  our  spring  have  gone  by ;  and  though  we 
have  the  enjoyment  of  all  we  anticipated,  yet  with  the 
fruition   hope  begins  to  languish,  and  in  the  present 
exists  the  fulness  of  our  joys.     The  flowery  treasures, 
foretokened  by  the  first  blue  violet,  .are  blooming  around 
us ;  the  melodious  concert,  to  which   the   little    song 
sparrow  warbled   a  sweet   prelude  in   March,  is  now 
swelling  from  a  full  band  of  songsters,  and  the  sweet 
summer  climate  that  was  harbored  by  an  occasional 
south  wind  has  arrived.    But  there  is  sadness  in  fruition. 
With  all  these  voluptuous  gales  and  woodland  min 
strelsies,  we  cannot  help  wishing  for  a  renewal  of  those 
feelings  with  which  we  greeted  the  first  early  flower, 
and  listened  to  the  song  of  the  earliest  returning  bird. 

Nature  has  thus  nearly  equalized  the  enjoyments  of 
every  season.  When  our  actual  joys  are  least  abun 
dant,  fancy  is  near  at  hand,  to  supply  us  with  the  vis 
ions  of  those  pleasures,  of  which  we  cannot  enjoy  the 
substance;  filling  our  souls  in  spring  with  the  hope  of 
the  future;  comforting  us  in  autumn  with  the  memory 
of  the  past,  and  amusing  us  in  winter,  with  a  tranquil 
retrospection  of  the  whole  year,  and  the  pleasant  watch 
ing  for  the  dawn  of  another  spring. 

A  change  has  taken  place  in  the  whole  aspect  of  the 
woods,  since  the  middle  of  the  last  month.     The  light 


JUNE.  151 

yellowish  green  of  the  willows  and  thorns,  the  purple 
of  the  sumach  and  the  various  hues  of  other  sprouting 
foliage  have  ripened  into  a  dark  uniform  verdure.  The 
grass  as  it  waves  in  the  meadows,  gleams  like  the  bil 
lows  of  the  ocean ;  and  the  glossy  surfaces  of  the  ripe 
leaves  of  the  trees  as  they  tremble  in  the  wind,  glitter 
like  millions  of  imperfect  mirrors  in  the  light  of  the 
sun.  The  petals  of  the  fading  blossoms  are  flying  in 
all  directions,  as  they  are  scattered  by  the  fluttering 
gales,  and  cover,  like  flakes  of  snow,  the  whole  surface 
of  the  orchards.  The  flowers  of  innumerable  forest 
trees  are  in  a  state  of  maturity,  and  the  yellow  dust 
from  their  flower-cups,  scattered  widely  over  the  earth, 
may  be  seen  after  showers,  covering  the  edges  of  the 
beds  of  dried  water-pools,  in  yellow  circular  streaks. 

The  pines  and  other  coniferous  trees  are  in  flower 
during  this  month  ;  and  the  golden  hues  of  their*  blos 
soms  contrast  beautifully  with  the  deep  verdure  of  their 
foliage.  These  trees,  like  others,  shed  their  leaves  in 
autumn  ;  but  it  is  the  foliage  of  the  preceding  year  that 
falls,  leaving  that  of  the  last  summer  still  upon  the 
trees.  This  foliage  is  very  slowly  perishable,  and  covers 
the  earth  where  it  falls,  during  all  the  year,  with  that 
brown,  smooth,  and  fragrant  carpet,  which  is  so  charac 
teristic  of  a  pine  wood.  Among  the  flowers  which 
are  conspicuous  on  this  brown  matted  foliage  is  the 
purple  ladies-slipper,  whose  inflated  blossoms  often  burst 
upon  the  sight  of  the  rambler,  as  if  they  had  risen 
up  by  enchantment.  In  similar  haunts  the  trien- 
talis,  unrivalled  in  the  peculiar  delicacy  of  its  flowers, 
that  issue  from  a  single  whorl  of  pointed  leaves,  sup 
ported  upon  a  tall  and  slender  footstalk,  never  fails  to 
attract  the  attention  of  the  botanist  and  the  lover  of 
nature. 


152  STUDIES   IN   THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

Our  gardens,  during  the  first  of  this  month  exhibit  few 
exotics  more  beautiful  than  the  Canadian  Rhodora,  an 
indigenous  shrub,  which  is  at  this  time  in  full  flower  in 
the  wild  pastures.  It  is  from  two  to  five  feet  in  height, 
and  its  brilliant  purple  flowers,  unrivalled  in  delicacy,  ap 
pear  on  the  extremities  of  the  branches,  when  the  leaves 
are  just  beginning  to  unfold.  It  is  rendered  singularly 
attractive  by  the  contrast  between  its  purple  hues,  of 
peculiar  resplendency,  and  the  whiteness  of  the  flowers 
of  almost  all  other  shrubs,  at  this  season.  This  plant, 
by  its  flowering  marks  the  commencement  of  summer, 
and  may  be  considered  an  apt  symbol  of  the  brilliant 
and  unrivalled  charms  of  the  month  of  June. 

June  is  also  the  month  of  the  Arethusas  —  those 
most  charming  flowers  of  the  peat  meadows  —  belong 
ing  to  a  tribe  that  is  too  delicate  for  cultivation.  Like 
the  beautiful  birds  of  the  forest,  they  were  created  for 
nature's  own  temples  ;  and  the  divinities  of  the  wood, 
under  whose  invisible  protection  they  thrive,  will  not 
permit  them  to  mingle  with  the  multitude  that  grace 
the  parterre.  The  cymbidiun,  of  a  similar  habit,  the 
queen  of  the  meadows,  with  larger  flowers  and  more 
numerous  clusters,  the  crimson  orchis,  that  springs  up 
by  the  river-sides,  among  the  myrtle-like  foliage  of  the 
craneberry  and  the  nodding  panicles  of  the  quaking 
grass,  like  a  spire  of  living  flame ;  and  the  still  more 
rare  and  delicate  white  orchis,  that  hidden  in  certain 
mossy  dells  in  the  woods,  seldom  feels  the  direct  light 
of  the  sun,  are  all  alike  consecrated  to  nature  and  to 
solitude,  as  if  they  were  designed  to  cheer  the  hearts 
of  her  humble  votaries,  with  the  sight  of  some  thing 
that  had  not  been  appropriated  for  the  exclusive  adorn 
ment  of  the  garden  and  the  palace. 

The  rambler  may  already  perceive  a  difference  in  the 


JUNE.  153 

characteristics  of  the  flowers  of  this  month  and  of  the 
last.  In  May  the  prominent  colors  were  white  and  the 
lighter  shades  of  purple  and  lilac,  in  which  the  latter 
were  but  faintly  blended.  In  June  the  purple  shades 
predominate  in  the  flowers,  except  those  of  the  shrubs 
which  are  mostly  white.  The  scarlet  hues  are  seldom 
seen  until  after  midsummer.  The  yellows  seem  to  be 
confined  to  no  particular  season,  being  conspicuous  in 
the  dandelion,  ranunculus,  and  coltsfoot  of  spring ;  in 
the  potentillas,  the  senecios,  and  the  loosestrifes  of  sum 
mer,  and  in  the  sunflowers,  goldenrods,  and  many  other 
tribes  of  autumn. 

One  of  the  most  charming  appearances  of  the  present 
month,  to  one  who  is  accustomed  to  the  minute  obser 
vation  of  nature's  works,  is  the  flowering  of  the  grasses. 
Though  this  extensive  tribe  of  plants  is  remarkable  in 
no  instances  for  the  brilliancy  of  its  flowers,  yet  there  is 
no  tribe  that  exhibits  more  beauty  in  their  aggregations  ; 
some  rearing  their  flowers  in  a  compact  head,  like  the 
herd's  grass  and  the  foxtail ;  others  spreading  them  out 
in  an  erect  panicle,  like  a  tree,  as  the  orchard  grass  and 
the  common  redtop ;  others  appearing  with  a  bristling 
head,  like  wheat  and  barley ;  and  a  countless  variety  of 
species,  with  nodding  panicles,  like  the  oat  and  the 
quaking  grass.  The  greater  number  of  the  gramineous 
plants  are  in  flower  at  the  present  time,  and  there  are 
no  other  species  which  afford  more  attractions,  to  those 
who  examine  nature  with  the  discriminating  eye  of 
science. 

He  who  is  accustomed  to  rambling  is  now  keenly 
sensible  of  that  community  of  property  in  nature,  of 
which  he  cannot  be  deprived.  The  air  of  heaven  is 
acknowledged  to  belong  equally  to  all,  and  cannot  be 
monopolized;  but  the  land  is  apportioned. into  tracts 


154  STUDIES   IN  THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

belonging  to  different  owners,  and  the  majority  perhaps 
do  not  own  a  rood.  Yet  to  a  certain  extent,  and  in  a 
very  important  sense,  the  earth,  the  trees,  the  flowers, 
and  the  landscape  are  common  property.  He  who 
owns  a  fine  garden  enjoys  but  little  advantage  over  him 
who  is  without  one.  We  are  all  free  in  this  country  to 
roam  over  the  wide  fields  and  pastures ;  we  can  eat  of 
the  fruits  of  the  earth,  and  feast  our  eyes  on  the  beau 
ties  of  nature,  as  well  as  the  owner  of  the  largest  pos 
sessions.  A  man  is  not  poor,  who  while  he  possesses 
the  comforts  of  life,  is  thus  capable  of  enjoying  the 
blessings  of  nature.  His  possessions  are  not  circum 
scribed  by  fences  and  boundary  lines.  All  the  earth  is 
his  garden  —  cultivated  without  expense,  and  enjoyed 
without  anxiety.  He  partakes  of  these  bounties  which 
cannot  be  confined  to  a  legal  possessor,  and  which 
Providence  as  a  compensation  to  those  who  are  worn 
with  toil,  or  harassed  with  care,  spreads  out  to  gladden 
them  with  renewed  hopes,  and  to  warm  their  hearts 
with  gratitude  and  benevolence. 

June  is  of  all  months  of  the  year  the  most  delightful 
period  of  woodland  minstrelsy.  With  the  early  birds 
that  still  continue  their  warbling,  the  summer  birds 
have  joined  their  louder  and  more  melodious  strains. 
Early  in  the  morning,  when  the  purple  light  of  dawn 
first  awakens  one  from  sleep,  and  while  the  red  rays 
that  fringe  the  eastern  arches  of  the  sky,  with  a  beauti 
ful  tremulous  motion  are  fast  brightening  into  a  more 
dazzling  radiance,  we  hear  from  the  feathered  tribe  the 
commencement  of  their  general  hymn  of  gladness. 
There  is  first  an  occasional  twittering,  then  a  single 
performance  from  some  early  waker,  then  a  gradual 
joining  of  voices,  until  at  length  there  is  a  full  chorus 
of  song.  Every  few  minutes  some  new  voice  joins  in 


JUNE.  155 

the  concert  as  if  aroused  by  the  beginners  and  excited 
by  emulation  until  thousands  of  melodious. voices  seem 
to  be  calling  us  out  from  sleep,  to  the  enjoyment  of  life 
and  liberty. 

After  the  sun  has  risen  nearly  to  meridian  height,  the 
greater  number  of  the  birds  that  helped  to  swell  the 
anthem  of  morn,  discontinue  their  songs,  and  a  com 
parative  silence  prevails  during  the  heat  of  the  day. 
The  vireo,  however,  warbles  incessantly,  at  all  hours  of 
daylight,  from  the  lofty  tree-tops  in  the  heart  of  the  vil 
lages  ;  the  oriole  is  still  piping  at  intervals  among  the 
blossoms  of  the  fruit-trees,  and  the  merry  bobolink 
never  tires,  during  the  heat  of  the  day,  while  singing 
and  chattering,  as  if  in  ecstasies,  above  and  around  the 
sitting  place  of  his  wedded  mate.  At  the  commence 
ment  of  the  sun's  decline,  the  birds  renew  their  songs  ; 
but  the  majority  of  the  more  familiar  birds  that  linger 
about  our  orchards  and  gardens,  are  far  less  musical  at 
sunset  than  at  sunrise.  I  suppose  they  may  be  more 
annoyed  by  the  presence  of  men,  who  are  more  accus 
tomed  to  be  out  at  a  late  hour  in  the  evening,  than  at 
an  early  hour  in  the  morning. 

The  hour  preceding  dusk  in  the  evening,  however,  is 
the  time  when  the  thrushes,  the  most  musical  of  birds, 
are  loudest  in  their  song.  Several  different  species  of 
this  tribe  of  musicians,  at  a  late  hour,  are  almost  the 
sole  performers.  The  cat-bird,  with  a  strain  somewhat 
similar  to  that  of  the  robin,  less  melodious,  but  more 
varied  and  quaint  in  its  expression,  is  then  warbling  in 
those  places,  where  the  orchards  and  the  wildwood 
meet  and  are  blended  together.  The  red-thrush,  a  bird 
still  more  retired  in  his  habits,  takes  his  station  upon  a 
tree  that  stands  apart  from  the  wood,  and  there  pours 


156  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

forth  his  loud  and  varied  song,  which  may  be,  heard 
above  every  pther  note.  A  little  deeper  in  the  woods, 
near  the  borders  of  streams,  the  wood-thrushes,  the  last 
to  become  silent,  may  be  heard  responding  to  one 
another,  with  their  trilled  and  exquisite  notes,  unsur 
passed  in  melody  and  expression,  from  the  sun's  early 
decline,  until  the  purple  of  twilight  has  nearly  departed. 
During  all  this  time,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  day, 
in  the  solemn  depths  of  the  forest,  where  almost  all 
other  singing  birds  are  strangers,  resounds  the  distinct, 
peculiar,  and  almost  unearthly  warbling  of  the  hermit- 
thrush,  who  recites  his  different  strains,  with  such  long 
pauses,  and  with  such  a  varied  modulation,  that  they 
might  be  mistaken  for  the  notes  of  several  different 
birds. 

At  nightfall,  though  the  air  is  no  longer  resonant 
with  song,  our  ears  are  greeted  with  a  variety  of  pleas 
ing  and  romantic  sounds.  In  the  still  darkness,  apart 
from  the  village  hum,  may  be  heard  the  frequent  flut 
tering  of  the  wings  of  night  birds,  when  the  general 
silence  permits  their  musical  vibrations  to  resound  dis 
tinctly  from  different  distances,  during  their  short,  mys 
terious  flights.  These  sounds,  to  which  I  used  to  listen 
with  ravishment,  in  my  early  days,  are  more  suggestive 
than  music,  and  always  come  to  my  remembrance,  as 
one  of  the  delightful  things  connected  with  a  summer 
evening  in  the  country.  At  the  same  time,  in  my  late 
evening  rambles,  I  have  often  paused,  to  hear  the  respon 
sive  chirping  of  the  snipes,  in  the  open  plains,  during 
their  season  of  courtship  ;  and  to  watch  their  occasional 
whirling  flight,  as  with  whistling  wings,  they  soar  like 
the  lark  into  the  skies,  to  meet  and  warble  together, 
above  the  darkness  that  envelops  the  earth.  With  the 


JUNE.  157 

same  whirling  flight,  they  soon  descend  again  to  the 
earth,  and  commence  anew  their  responsive  chirping. 
These  alternate  visits  to  the  earth  and  the  skies  are 
continued  for  several  hours.  There  is  nothing  very 
musical  in  the  chirping  of  these  birds;  and  their  war 
bling  in  the  heavens,  when  they  have  reached  the  sum 
mit  of  their  ascent,  is  only  a  somewhat  monotonous 
succession  of  sounds.  But  when,  at  this  later  time  of 
life,  I  chance  to  hear  a  repetition  of  their  notes,  the 
whole  bright  page  of  youthful  adventure  is  placed 
vividly  before  my  mind.  It  is  only  at  such  times,  that 
we  feel  the  full  influence  of  c.ertain  sounds  of  nature,  in 
hallowing  the  period  of  manhood,  with  a  recollection  of 
early  pleasures,  and  a  renewal  of  those  feelings,  that 
come  upon  the  soul  like  a  fresh  breeze  and  the 
sound  of  gurgling  waters  to  the  weary  and  thirsty 
traveller. 

The  evenings  are  now  so  delightful  that  it  seems 
like  imprisonment  to  remain  within  doors.  Odors, 
sights,  and  sounds  are  at  present  so  grateful  and  tran 
quillizing  in  their  effects  upon  the  mind,  and  so  sugges 
tive  of  all  the  bright  period  of  youth,  that  they  cannot 
be  regarded  as  the  mere  pleasures  of  sense.  The  sweet 
emanations  from  beds  of  ripening  strawberries,  from, 
plats  of  pinks  and  violets,  from  groves  of  flowering  lin 
den-trees,  full  of  myriads  of  humming  insects,  from 
meadows  odoriferous  with  clover,  and  sweet-scented 
grasses,  all  wafted  in  succession  with  every  little  shift 
ing  of  the  wind,  breathe  upon  us  one  endless  variety 
of  fragrance.  Then  the  perfect  velvety  softness  of 
the  evening  air,  'the  various  melodies  that  come  from 
every  nook,  tree,  rock,  dell,  and  fountain  ;  the  notes  of 
birds,  the  chirping  of  insects,  the  hum  of  bees,  the 
rustling  of  aspen  leaves,  the  bubbling  of  fountains,  the 

14 


158  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

dashing  of  waves  and  waterfalls,  and  the  many  beau 
tiful  things  that  greet  our  vision  from  earth,  sea,  and 
sky  —  all  unite,  as  it  were,  to  yield  to  mortals,  who 
hope  for  immortality,  a  foretaste  of  the  unspeakable 
joys  of  paradise. 


XX. 

A   SUMMER   NIGHT    IN    THE    WOODS. 


WHEN  the  decline  of  day  is  plainly  perceptible  in  the 
lengthened  shadows  of  the  trees,  and  the  more  refresh 
ing  coolness  of  the  atmosphere,  many  species  of  birds, 
that  since  morning  have  been  silent,  commence  anew 
their  vocal  revelry.  Evening  cornes  not  unattended  by 
the  same  captivating  splendors  that  usher  in  the  morn, 
and  the  same  melodies  that  herald  her  approach.  As 
she  descends  from  her  pavilion  of  crimson  and  amber, 
to  spread  her  twilight  over  the  landscape,  calling  down 
the  gentle  dews  from  heaven  and  bringing  refreshment 
to  the  drooping  herbs,  the  heavens  show  forth  their  glad 
ness  in  the  myriad  hues  of  sunset,  and  all  animated 
nature  raises  a  shout  of  music  and  thankfulness.  But 
there  is  a  pensiveness  about  the  melodies  of  evening 
that  sweetly  harmonizes  with  the  sober  meditative  hour ; 
and  the  same  birds,  that  in  the  morning  pour  out  their 
melodious  lays  as  from  hearts  full  of  rejoicing,  now 
whisper  them  in  accents  more  subdued,  like  the  quiet 
breathing  of  the  winds  that  are  loath  to  disturb  the 
sleep  of  the  flowers. 

Just  before  the  sun's  decline,  the  thrushes,  which  are 
our  proper  forest  warblers,  are  unusually  tuneful,  and  con- 


160  STUDIES   IN   THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

tirme  to  sing  until  dark.  The  voice  of  the  little  wood- 
thrush  is  the  last  to  be  heard  ;  and  when  his  notes  have 
ceased,  the  night  may  be  said  to  have  commenced; 
though  even  after  this  time,  the  sweet  notes  of  the 
grassfinch,  (the  bush-sparrow,)  are  occasionally  poured 
out  from  some  station  in  the  open  fields.  But  in  our 
woods,  at  this  season,  silence  does  not  immediately 
ensue.  A  restlessness  prevails  among  the  feathered 
tribes,  as  if  they  were  yet  unprepared  to  renounce  the 
pleasures  of  the  day.  At  intervals,  for  the  space  of  an 
hour  after  dusk,  an  occasional  note  of  complaint  is 
heard  in  the  thicket  from  different  birds,  a  shrill  chirp 
from  some  of  the  little  sylvias,  the  mewing  of  the  cat 
bird  among  the  shrubbery,  or  the  querulous  smack  of  the 
red-thrush. 

Suddenly,  when  the  stillness  of  the  night  has  become 
fully  realized,  the  note  of  the  whippoorwill  resounds 
through  the  forest,  with  a  solemn  accent  that  pleasantly 
harmonizes  with  silence  and  darkness.  There  is  some 
thing  in  his  monotonous  song  that  is  disagreeable  to 
many,  who  attribute  to  it  a  certain  power  of  announc 
ing  a  coming  disaster.  Its  peculiar  measured  cadence, 
and  the  mystery  that  is  connected  with  the  bird,  cause 
his  notes  to  seem  like  the  utterance  of  some  prophetic 
message ;  and  it  is  said  that  he  often  tells  a  tale  of  sad 
ness  that  will  come  before  the  falling  of  the  leaf.  But 
to  those  who  assign  the  bird  no  oracular  powers,  and 
regard  him  only  as  one  of  the  innocent  tenants  of  the 
grove,  his  notes  are  musical  and  affecting.  The  song 
of  the  whippoorwill  is  a  poor  substitute  for  that  of  the 
nightingale  ;  but  the  melancholy  it  inspires  is  just  suffi 
cient  to  be  an  agreeable  emotion,  and  adds  impressive- 
ness  to  the  silent  scenes  around  us. 

Sometimes,  for  several  minutes,  hardly  a  voice  from 


SUMMER   NIGHT   IN  THE   WOODS.  161 

any  creature  is  heard;  and  the  rustling  of  the  night 
wind  through  the  tremulous  leaves  of  the  birch,  or  its 
moaning  among  the  high  branches  of  the  pines, 
resembling  the  murmurs  of  distant  waters,  are  the  only 
sounds  that  meet  the  ear.  But  this  dreary  stillness  is 
not  of  long  duration.  The  droning  flight  of  the  beetle, 
and  the  whirring  of  various  kinds  of  moths  that  are 
busy  among  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  are  the  accompani 
ments  of  a  summer  night,  suggesting  to  the  fancy  the 
passing  of  a  ghost,  and  filling  the  mind  with  many  mys 
terious  conjectures.  Sometimes  the  owl,  on  his  soft, 
silken  wings,  glides  along  with  stealthy  and  noiseless 
flight ;  and  we  are  soon  startled  by  his  peculiar  hoot 
ing —  a  sound  which  I  can  imagine  must  be  terrific  to 
the  smaller  inhabitants  of  the  woods. 

At  midnight,  in  general,  the  stillness  of  the  winds  is 
greater  than  in  the  daytime,  and  the  gurgling  of  streams 
is  heard  more  distinctly  amid  the  general  hush  of  nature.. 
Sounds  are  now  the  most  prominent  objects  of  atten 
tion  ;  and  every  noise  from  distant  places  booms  distinctly 
over  the  plains  and  hollows.  We  are  affected  with  a 
superstitious  feeling,  in  a  lonely  place  at  night,  that  dis 
poses  us  to  listen  with  breathless  attention  to  every 
sound  we  cannot  immediately  explain.  A  morbid  sen 
sibility  thus  awakened  is  the  cause  of  that  pleasure 
which  is  felt  by  most  persons  under  similar  circum 
stances.  It  leads  the  youthful  and  the  bold  to  seek 
midnight  adventure,  and  the'  more  timid  to  trust  them 
selves  to  those  ambiguous  situations,  where,  though  no 
danger  awaits  them,  the  silence  and  darkness  and  mys 
tery  produce  a  state  of  the.  mind  that  borders  on  ecstasy, 
and  which  may  be  considered  the  usual  mental  condi 
tion  of  the  religious  devotee. 

While  pursuing  our  midnight  contemplations,  occa- 
14* 


162  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

sionally,  during  an  interval  of  silence,  the  night-jar,  as 
he  flies  invisibly  over  our  head,*  twangs  his  wings  on  a 
sudden  descent  through  the  air  in  pursuit  of  his  aerial 
prey,  making  a  sound  that  to  the  superstitious,  who  are 
unacquainted  with  the  habits  of  the  bird,  is  fearful  and 
mysterious.  The  first  time  I  heard  this  sound,  which 
resembles  the  snapping  of  a  viol  string,  was  in  my 
school-days,  when  walking  homeward  with  three  of  my 
school-fellows,  at  midnight,  on  a  solitary  turnpike-road. 
Not  knowing  the  cause  of  it,  we  were  affected  with  a 
peculiar  sensation  of  awe,  which  was  not  relieved  until 
daylight  revealed  to  us  the  birds  still  circling  above  our 
heads. 

Often  while  thus  affected  with  a  sensation  of  mys 
tery  bordering  on  that  of  sublimity,  and  in  the  midst  of 
a  stillness  that  is  somewhat  awful,  all  serious  emotions 
will  be  put  to  flight,  by  a  sudden  chorus  of  bull-frogs 
from  a  neighboring  pool.  These  sounds,  in  themselves 
inharmonious,  are  so  suggestive  of  the  sweetness  and 
the  quiet  of  a  summer  evening  in  the  woods,  that  they 
seldom  fail  to  impress  the  mind  with  agreeable  emo 
tions.  In  the  course  of  our  midnight  saunterings, 
when  we  are  near  any  collection  of  water,  the  shriek  of 
the  common  green  frog  is  heard  incessantly,  at  short  in 
tervals,  and  the  trilling  voice  of  the  toad,  so  continual 
by  day,  occasionally  breaks  the  silence  of  night.  The 
common  tree-frog,  the  prophet  of  summer  showers, 
which  is  seldom  heard  except  in  damp  days,  keeps  up 
a  constant  garrulity,  ending  only  with  sunrise,  during 
all  still  nights  in  the  month  of  June. 

There    is    no    perfect    stillness   on   a   summer  night. 

*  This  sound  is  said  to  be  produced  by  the  open  mouth  of  the  bird, 
as  he  darts  swiftly  through  the  air  in  pursuit  of  an  insect. 


SUMMER   NIGHT   IN   THE   WOODS.  163 

There  are  gentle  flutterings  of  winds  that  nestle  in  the 
foliage ;  mysterious  whisperings  of  zephyrs  and  hum 
ming  of  nocturnal  insects,  that  hover  around  us  like 
spirits,  and  seem  to  interrogate  us  about  the  reason  of 
our  presence  at  this  unseasonable  hour.  We  catch  the 
floatings  of  distant  sounds,  mellowed  into  harmony  by 
the  softening  effect  of  distance,  hardly  to  be  distin 
guished  from  the  noise  made  by  a  dropping  leaf,  as  it 
comes  rustling  down  through  the  small  branches.  The 
stirring  of  a  little  bird,  as  he  preens  his  feathers  upon  a 
branch  just  over  our  heads,  and  uttering  an  occasional 
chirp ;  a  little  quadruped  leaping  suddenly  through  the 
underwood,  and  secreting  itself  hastily  among  the  herb 
age,  are  trifles  that  add  cheerfulness  to  the  solemn 
quietude  of  night. 

I  am  supposing  the  night  to  be  perfectly  calm ;  but 
how  calm  soever  it  may  be,  now  and  then  a  breeze  will 
pass  fitfully  overhead,  and  the  trees  will  shake  their 
fluttering  leaves  in  the  wind.  Perfect  stillness  will  im 
mediately  follow,  save  at  intervals  a  whisper  is  heard 
from  some  unseen  object,  as  if  something  that  had 
life  was  watching  your  motions,  or  you  had  obtained  a 
faint  perception  of  sounds  from  the  invisible  world. 

Among  the  affecting  circumstances  attending  a  night 
in  the  woods  I  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  sounds  of 
distant  bells  that  proclaim  the  flight  of  time.  These, 
while  they  add  to  the  solemnity  of  our  feelings,  afford  a 
pleasant  assurance  of  the  nearness  of  human  habita 
tions.  But  the  single  stroke  that  tells  the  hour  of  mid 
night,  as  it  tolls  over  the  echoing  landscape,  repeated  at 
short  intervals,  from  different  villages,  is  peculiarly 
solemn  and  impressive.  You  then  feel  that  you  are 
under  the  very  meridian  of  night,  and  that  darkness  is 


164  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

your   only   protection.     The  effect  of  this    single   toll 
upon  the  mind  at  such  a  time  cannot  be  described. 

I  have  as  yet  spoken  only  of  sounds,  which  at  mid 
night  are  scarcely  more  impressive  than  sights.  The 
swarms  of  little  fireflies  that  are  wheeling  and  darting 
about  in  the  lowlands  are  pleasant  objects,  and  are  al 
most  the  only  creatures  that  can  be  seen,  except  perhaps 
some  night  bird,  as  it  passes  like  a  dark  spot  over  the 
half  luminous  sky.  But  these  little  sparks  of  insect 
life  do  not  aggravate  the  impressions  made  by  the  dark 
ness.  There  is  nothing  about  them  that  excites  the  im 
agination,  or  exalts  the  feelings.  One  can  easily 
imagine  the  terror  with  which  the  glaring  eyes  of  the 
jaguar  must  be  behold  by  the  midnight  traveller  in  the 
South  American  forest.  The  eyes  of  the  owl,  as  seen 
through  the  deep  foliage,  might  produce  similar  though 
inferior  impressions  ;  but  in  our  quiet  woods  imagina 
tion  is  the  source  of  all  the  terrors  that  might  be  felt  on 
witnessing  any  sudden  visions  of  this  bird. 

The  night  would  afford  no  mean  employment  to  the 
naturalist,  if  he  could  but  observe  the  midnight  opera 
tions  of  the  still  wakeful  part  of  animated  nature. 
There  are  many  nocturnal  insects  which,  though  not 
easily  discovered  in  the  darkness,  are  then  in  motion 
hovering  among  the  foliage,  or  seeking  the  open  blos 
som-cup  of  some  flower  of  the  night.  At  this  time 
only  can  the  active  habits  of  these  creatures  be  observed, 
when  even  the  deep  shadows  do  not  protect  them  from 
the  bat,  the  owl,  and  the  goatsucker,  who  nightly  de 
stroy  thousands  of  these  beautiful  insects,  leaving  their 
torn  wings  and  elegant  plumage  in  the  green  forest 
path,  or  lodged  upon  a  leafy  branch,  and  marking  the 
place  of  their  destruction. 


SUMMER   NIGHT  IX   THE   WOODS.  165 

As  real  objects  are  but  faintly  seen,  by  the  same 
cause  the  phantoms  of  darkness  are  made  visible. 
There  are  many  things  in  the  obscurity  that  assume 
dubious  and  mysterious  shapes,  and  excite  the  curiosity 
blended  with  some  apprehension.  The  branches  are 
pictured  like  the  forms  of  birds  and  quadrupeds  on  the 
sky,  and  every  passing  breeze  seems  to  wake  them  into 
life  and  motion.  A  beam  of  light  appears  on  the  plain, 
or  a  shadow  on  the  hill,  reminding  you  of  the  dusky 
form  of  a  ghost,  as  it  glides  half  visibly  among  the  in 
distinct  forms  of  the  trees.  On  a  dark  night  almost  all 
objects  are  ambiguous.  The  trees  that  stand  near  the 
borders  of  streams  cast  faint  shadows  upon  them,  that 
are  often  mistaken  for  some  real  and  indefinable  objects 
resting  upon  their  starry  surface.  Every  thing  that 
moves  reminds  you  of  a  spirit;  and  many  are  the  unin 
telligible  forms  that  stand  around, -nodding  their  heads, 
and,  as  it  were,  beckoning  to  some  kindred  monster. 
You  feel  as  if  they  were  aware  of  your  presence,  and 
were  consulting  together  how  they  should  regard  your 
intrusion  into  their  dusky  haunts.  At  such  times  the 
creaking  of  a  dry  branch  of  a  tree,  when  swayed  by  the 
wind,  will  startle  you,  like  the  sudden  and  unexpected 
approach  of  a  person  behind  you. 

As  night  draws  near  its  close,  we  begin  to  long  for 
the  morn ;  and  the  crowing  of  cocks  from  some  neigh 
boring  farm  yard  affords  a  pleasant  relief  to  our  weari 
ness,  and  an  assurance  of  the  nearness  of  dawn.  The 
little  hair-bird,  that  utters  his  trilling  note  at  intervals 
throughout  the  night,  is  heard  more  frequently.  At 
length  an  occasional  twitter  from  the  birds,  that  every 
where  surround  us,  announces  that  morning  is  visible. 
Nature  always  gives  signs  of-  an  approaching  change ; 
and  morning  dawn  and  evening  twilight  have  their  re- 


166  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

spective  harbingers,  and  she  usually  accompanies  them 
with  peculiar  harmonies  from  the  elements  and  from 
animated  things.  Thus,  by  the  croaking  of  the  tree- 
toad,  she  announces  an  approaching  shower;  by  the 
chirping  of  the  green  nocturnal  grasshopper,  she  pro 
claims  the  decline  of  summer ;  but  the  feathered  tribes 
are  nature's  favorite  sentinels,  whom  she  employs  to 
herald  in  the  morn. 

If  we  now  take  our  stand  on  an  eminence,  where  we 
can  obtain  a  clear  view  of  the  eastern  belt  of  the  horizon, 
a  luminous  appearance  may  be  observed,  forming  a  semi 
circle  of  dim  whitish  light  around  the  gate  of  morning. 
If  a  thin  veil  of  clouds  overspread  the  arch,  the  tints 
will  be  dark  in  proportion  to  their  distances  from  the 
hidden  source  of  light.  Imagine  it  divided  into  circles ; 
—  the  inner  one  will  be  of  a  light  yellow;  the  next 
assumes  a  tint  of  gold;  beyond  that  is  orange,  and  as 
it  extends  outwards,  it  passes  through  regular  grada 
tions  of  vermilion,  crimson,  purple,  and  violet,  until  it 
melts  into  the  azure  of  the  firmament. 


XXI. 

MORNINQ    IN    SUMMER. 


NATURE,  for  the  delight  of  waking  eyes,  has  arrayed 
the  morning  heavens  in  the  loveliest  hues  of  beauty,. 
Fearing  to  dazzle  by  an  excess  of  light,  she  first  an 
nounces  day  by  a  faint  and  glimmering  twilight,  then, 
sheds  a  purple  tint  over  the  brows  of  the  rising  morn,, 
and  infuses  a  transparent  ruddiness  throughout  the 
whole  atmosphere.  As  daylight  widens,  successive 
groups  of  mottled  and  rosy-bosomed  clouds  assemble 
on  the  gilded  sphere,  and,  crowned  with  wreaths  of  fickle- 
rainbows,  spread  a  mirrored  flush  over  hill,  grove,  and 
lake,  and  every  village  spire  is  burnished  with  their 
splendor.  At  length  through  crimsoned  vapors  we 
behold  the  sun's  broad  disc,  rising  with  a  countenance- 
so  serene,  that  every  eye  may  view  him,  ere  he  arrays 
himself  in  his  meridian  brightness.  Not  many  people- 
who  live  in  towns  are  aware  of  the  pleasure  attending- 
a  ramble  near  the  woods  and  orchards  at  daybreak  iin 
the  early  part  of  summer.  The  drowsiness  we  feel  on. 
rising  from  our  beds  is  gradually  dispelled  by  the  clear 
and  healthful  breezes  of  early  day,  and  we  soon  experi 
ence  an  unusual  amount  of  vigor  and  elasticity.  Nature 
has  so  ordered  her  bounties  and  her  blessings,  as  to- 


168  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

cause  the  hour  which  is  consecrated  to  health  to  be 
attended  with  the  greatest  amount  of  charms  for  all 
the  senses ;  and  to  make  all  hearts  enamoured  of  the 
morning,  she  has  environed  it  with  every  thing  in 
heaven  and  on  earth,  that  is  charming  to  the  eye  or  to 
the  ear,  or  capable  of  inspiring  some  agreeable  senti 
ment. 

During  the  night  the  stillness  of  all  things  is  the  cir 
cumstance  that  most  powerfully  attracts  our  notice, 
rendering  one  peculiarly  sensitive  to  every  accidental 
sound  that  meets  the  ear.  In  the  morning,  on  the  con 
trary,  at  this  time  of  year,  we  are  overwhelmed  by  the 
vocal  and  multitudinous  chorus  of  the  feathered  tribe. 
If  you  would  hear  the  commencement  of  this  grand 
anthem  of  nature,  you  must  rise  on  the  very  first  ap 
pearance  of  dawn,  before  the  twilight  has  formed  a 
complete  circle  above  the  eastern  porch  of  heaven. 
The  first  note  that  proceeds  from  the  little  warbling 
host  is  the  shrill  chirp  of  the  hair-bird,  which  is  occa 
sionally  heard  at  all  hours,  on  a  warm  summer  night. 
This  strain,  which  is  a  continued  trilling  sound,  is  re 
peated  with  diminishing  intervals,  until  it  becomes 
almost  incessant.  But  the  hair-bird  has  not  uttered 
many  notes  before  a  single  robin  begins  to  warble  from 
a  neighboring  orchard,  being  soon  followed  by  others, 
increasing  in  numbers,  until,  by  the  time  the  eastern 
sky  has  attained  a  crimson  hue,  every  male  robin  in  the 
country  round  is  singing  with  fervor. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  note  the  exact  order  in  which 
the  different  birds  successively  commence  their  parts  in 
this  performance  ;  but  the  bluebird,  whose  song  is  only 
a  short  mellow  warble,  is  heard  nearly  at  the  same 
time  with  the  robin,  and  the  song-sparrow  joins  them 
stxon  after  with  his  brief,  but  finely  modulated  strain. 


MORNING   IN   SUMMER.  169 

The  different  species  follow  rapidly,  one  after  another, 
in  the  chorus,  until  the  whole  welkin  rings  with  their 
matin  hymn  of  gladness.  I  have  often  wondered  that 
the  almost  simultaneous  utterance  of  so  many  different 
notes  should  produce  no  discords,  and  that  they  should 
result  in  such  complete  harmony.  In  this  multitudi 
nous  confusion  of  voices,  no  two  notes  are  confounded, 
and  none  has  sufficient  duration  to  grate  harshly  with  a 
dissimilar  sound.  Though  each  performer  sings  only  a 
few  strains  and  then  makes  a  pause,  the  whole  multi 
tude  succeed  each  other  with  such  rapidity  that  we  hear 
an  uninterrupted  flow  of  music,  until  the  broad  light  of 
day  invites  them  to  other  employments. 

Before  the  birds  can  see  well  enough  to  fly,  you  may 
observe,  here  and  there,  a  single  swallow  perehed  on 
the  roof  of  a  barn  or  shed,  repeating  two  twittering 
notes  incessantly,  with  a  quick  turn  and  a  hop  at  every 
note  he  utters.  It  would  seem  to  be  the  design  of  the 
bird  to  attract  the  attention  of  his  mate,  and  this 
motion  seems  to  be  made  to  assist  her  in  discovering 
his  position.  As  soon  as  there  is  sufficien-t  light  to 
enable  them  to  fly,  this  twittering  strain  is  uttered 
more  like  a  continued  song,  as  they  flit  rapidly  through 
the  air.  But  at  this  later  moment  the  martins  have 
commenced  their  more  melodious  chattering,  so  loudly 
as  to  attract  for  a  while  the  most  of  our  attention. 
There  is  not  a  sound  in  nature  so  cheering  and  animat 
ing  as  the  voice  of  the  purple  martin,  and  none  so  well 
calculated  to  drive  away  melancholy.  Though  not  one 
of  the  earliest  voices  to  be  heard,  the  chorus  is  percepti 
bly  more  loud  and  effective  when  this  bird  has  united 
with  the  choir. 

When  the  flush  of  morning  has  brightened  into  ver 
milion,  and  the  place  from  which  the  sun  is  soon  to 
15 


170  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

emerge  has  attained  a  dazzling  brilliancy,  the  robins  are 
already  less  tuneful.  They  are  now  becoming  busy  in 
collecting  food  for  their  morning  repast,  and  one  by  one 
they  leave  the  trees,  and  may  be  seen  hopping  upon  the 
tilled  ground,  in  quest  of  the  worms  and  insects  that 
have  crept  out  during  the  night  from  their  subterranean 
retreats.  But  as  the  voice  of  the  robins  has  ceased,  the 
bobolinks  commence  their  vocal  revelries;  and  to  a  fan 
ciful  mind  it  might  seem  that  the  robins  had  gradually 
resigned  their  part  in  the  performance  to  the  bobolinks, 
not  one  of  which  commences  until  some  of  the  former 
have  concluded  their  songs.  The  little  hair-bird  still 
continues  his  almost  incessant  chirping,  the  first  to  com 
mence  and  the  last  to  quit  the  performance.  Though 
the  voice  of  this  bird  is  not  very  agreeably  modulated, 
it  blends  harmoniously  with  the  notes  of  other  birds, 
and  greatly  increases  the  charming  effect  of  the  whole 
combination. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  name  all  the  birds  that  take 
part  in  this  chorus,  but  we  must  not  omit  the  pewee, 
with  his  melancholy  ditty,  occasionally  heard  like  a 
short  minor  strain  in  an  oratorio  ;  nor  the  oriole,  who  is 
really  one  of  the  chief  performers,  and  who,  as  his 
bright  plumage  flashes  upon  the  sight,  warbles  forth  a 
few  notes  so  clear  and  mellow,  as  to  be  heard  above 
every  other  sound.  Adding  a  pleasing  variety  to  all 
this  harmony,  the  three  notes  of  the  meadow  lark,  ut 
tered  in  a  shrill  tone,  and  with  a  peculiarly  pensive 
modulation,  are  plainly  audible,  with  short  rests  between 
each  repetition.  But  he  does  not  soar  into  the  skies 
like  the  European  lark,  and  is  not  generally  regarded  as 
one  of  our  singing  birds. 

There  is  a  little  brown  sparrow,  resembling  the  hair- 
bird,  save  that  his  plumage  has  a  general  tint  of  russet, 


MORNING   IN    SUMMER.  171 

that  may  be  heard  distinctly  among  the  warbling  host. 
He  is  never  found  in  cultivated  grounds,  but  frequents 
the  wild  pastures,  and  is  the  bird  that  warbles  so  sweetly 
at  midsummer,  when  the  whortleberries  are  ripe,  and  the 
fields  are  beautifully  spangled,  with  red  lilies.  There  is 
no  confusion  in  the  notes  of  his  song,  which  consists  of 
one  syllable  rapidly  repeated,  but  increasing  in  rapidity, 
and  rising  to  a  higher  key  towards  the  conclusion.  He 
sometimes  prolongs  his  strain,  when  his  notes  are 
observed  to  rise  and  fall  in  succession.  These  plain 
tive  and  expressive  notes  are  very  loud  and  constantly 
repeated,  during  the  whole  hour  that  precedes  the  rising 
of  the  sun.  A  dozen  warblers  of  this  species,  singing 
in  concert,  and  distributed  in  different  parts  of  the  field, 
form  perhaps  the  most  delightful  part  of  the  woodland 
oratorio  to  which  we  have  yet  listened. 

As  the  woods  are  the  residence  of  a  tribe  of  musi 
cians  that  differ  from  those  we  hear  in  the  open  fields 
and  orchards,  one  must  spend  a  morning  in  each  of 
these  situations,  to  obtain  a  hearing  of  all  the  songsters 
of  daybreak.  For  this  reason  I  have  said  nothing  of 
the  thrushes,  that  sing  chiefly  in  the  woods  and  solitary 
pastures,  and  are  commonly  more  musical  in  the  early 
evening  than  in  the  morning.  I  have  confined  my 
remarks  chiefly  to  those  birds  that  frequent  the  orchards 
and  gardens,  and  dwell  familiarly  near  the  habitations 
of  men. 

At  sunrise,  hardly  a  robin  is  to  be  heard  in  the  whole 
neighborhood,  and  the  character  of  the  performance  has 
completely  changed  during  the  last  half  hour.  The 
first  part  was  more  melodious  and  tranquillizing,  the 
last  more  brilliant  and  animating.  The  grassfinches, 
the  vireos,  the  wrens,  and  the  linnets  have  joined  their 
voices  to  the  chorus,  and  the  bobolinks  are  loudest  in 


172  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

their  song.  But  the  notes  of  birds  in  general  are  not  so 
incessant  as  they  were  before  sunrise.  One  by  one 
they  discontinue  their  lays,  until  at  high  noon  the  bob 
olink  and  the  warbling  flycatcher  are  almost  the  only 
vocalists  to  be  heard  in  the  fields. 

Among  the  agreeable  accompaniments  of  a  summer 
morning  walk  are  the  odors  from  the  woods,  the  herb 
age,  and  the  flowers.  At  no  other  hour  of  the  day  is 
the  atmosphere  so  fragrant  with  their  emanations.  The 
blossoms  of  almost  every  species  of  plant  are  just  un 
folding  their  petals,  after  the  sleep  of  night,  and  their 
various  offerings  of  incense  are  now  poured  out  at  the 
ruddy  shrine  of  morning.  The  objects  of  sight  and 
sound  are  generally  the  most  expressive  in  a  descrip 
tion  of  nature,  because  seeing  and  hearing  are  the  intel 
lectual  senses.  But  the  perfumes  that  abound  in  dif 
ferent  situations  are  hardly  less  suggestive  than  sights 
and  sounds.  Let  a  person  who  has  always  been 
familiar  with  green  fields  and  babbling  brooks,  and  who 
has  suddenly  become  blind,  be  led  out  under  the  open 
sky,  and  how  would  the  various  perfumes  from  vegeta 
tion  suggest  to  him  all  the  individual  scenes  and  objects 
which  have  been  imprinted  on  his  memory  ! 
•  There  is  a  peculiar  feeling  of  hope  and  cheerfulness 
that  comes  to  us  on  a  summer  morning  walk,  and  sends 
its  happy  influence  over  all  the  rest  of  the  day.  The 
pleasant  stillness,  apart  from  the  stirring  population ; 
the  amber  glow  of  heaven  that  beams  from  underneath 
successive  arches  of  crimson  and  vermilion,  constantly 
widening  and  brightening  into  the  full  glory  of  sun 
rise  ;  the  consciousness  of  having  gained  an  hour  of  the 
time  usually  devoted  to  sleep ;  above  all,  the  melodious 
concert  of  warblers  from  every  bush  and  tree,  constantly 
changing  its  character  by  the  silence  of  the  first  per- 


MORNING  IN   SUMMER.  173 

formers  and  the  joining  of  new  voices  —  all  conspire  to 
render  the  brief  period  from  dawn  to  sunrise  a  conse- 
crated  hour,  and  to  sanctify  it  to  every  one's  memory. 
I  am  inclined  to  attribute  the  healthfulness  of  early 
rising  to  these  circumstances,  rather  than  to  the  doubt 
ful  salubrity  of  the  dewy  atmosphere  of  morn.  The 
exercise  of  the  senses  while  watching  the  beautiful 
gradations  of  color:?,  through  which  the  rising  luminary 
passes  ere  his  full  form  appears  in  sight,  is  attended 
with  emotions  like  those  which  might  be  supposed  to 
attend  us  at  the  actual  opening  of  the  gates  of  Para 
dise.  We  return  home,  after  this  ramble,  with  a  heart 
warmed  by  new  love  for  the  beautiful  objects  of  nature, 
and  with  all  our  feelings  so  harmonized  by  the  sweet 
influences  of  morn,  as  to  find  increased  delight  in  the 
performance  of  our  duties  and  the  exercise  of  our  affec 
tions. 

15* 


XXII. 

JULY. 


THE  month  of  temperate  breezes  and  interminable 
verdure,  has  given  place  to  a  season  of  parching  heat 
and  sunshine,  which  has  seared  the  verdant  brows  of 
the  hills,  and  driven  away  the  vernal  flowers  that 
crowned  their  summits.  They  have  all  fled  from  the 
uplands  to  escape  the  heat  and  drought,  and  have 
sought  shelter  in  wet  places  or  under  the  damp  shade 
of  woods.  Many  of  the  rivulets  that  gave  animation 
to. the  prospect  in  the  spring,  are  now  marked  only  by 
a  harrow  channel,  filled  with  a  luxuriant  growth  of 
herbs,  that  follow  its  winding  course  along  the  plain ; 
and  the  shallow  pools  that  watered  the  early  cowslips, 
are  transformed  into  meads  of  waving  herbage.  Mill 
ions  of  bright  flowers  are  nodding  their  heads  over  the 
tall  grass ;  but  we  scarcely  heed  them ;  for  they  seem 
like  the  haughty  usurpers  of  the  rightful  dominion  of 
the  meeker  flowers  of  spring.  The  cattle  have  taken 
shelter  under  the  canopy  of  trees,  to  escape  from  the 
hot  beams  of  the  sun,  and  many  of  them  may  be  seen 
standing  in  the  pools  and  the  margins  of  ponds,  for  re 
freshment  and  protection  from  insects.  All  animated 


JULY.  175 

nature   is   indulging   a   languid    repose,  faint  and  ex 
hausted  with  the  sultry  heats  of  July. 

As  June  was  peculiarly  the  month  of  music  and 
flowers,  July  is  the  harvest  month  of  the  early  fruits ; 
and  though  the  man  of  feeling  would  prefer  the  last 
month,  the  present  certainly  offers  the  most  attractions 
to  the  epicure.  Strawberries  are  in  their  ripest  abun 
dance,  and  fill  the  air  with  fragrance  even  more  delicious 
than  their  fruit.  While  these  are  becoming  scarce,  the 
raspberry  bushes  that  embroider  the  walls  arid  fences, 
hang  out  their  ripe  red  clusters  of  berries,  where  the 
wild  rose  and  the  elder  flower  scent  the  air  with  their 
healthful  fragrance.  The  rocks  and  precipices,  so  lately 
crowned  with  the  early  flowers,  are  beautifully  festooned 
with  thimbleberries,  that  spring  out  in  tufts  from  their 
mossy  crevices,  half  covered  with  green  umbrageous 
ferns.  Ripe  fruits  hang  in  abundance  from  the  bram 
bles  that  creep  over  the  green  hill-sides,  like  so  many 
garlands  of  beads  around  the  bosom  of  nature,  and 
there  is  no  spot  so  barren,  that  it  is  not  covered  with 
something  that  is  beautiful  to  the  sight,  or  grateful  to 
the  sense.  The  little  bell-flowers,  that  hung  in  profu 
sion  from  the  low  blueberry  bushes,  whose  beauty  and 
fragrance  we  so  lately  admired,  are  transformed  into 
azure  fruits,  that  rival  the  flowers  in  elegance.  Nature 
seems  to  be  inviting  all  her  children  to  partake  of  the 
pleasures  of  sense,  and  would  convert  us  all  into  epi 
cures,  by  changing  into  delicious  fruits,  those  beautiful 
things  we  contemplated,  so  lately,  with  a  tender  senti 
ment,  allied  to  that  of  love.  Summer  is  surely  the  sea 
son  of  epicurism,  as  spring  is  that  of  a  more  refined 
and  spiritual  enjoyment.  Nature  has  now  bountifully 
provided  for  every  sense.  The  trees  that  afford  a  pleas 
ant  shade,  are  surrounded  with  an  undergrowth  of  fruit- 


176  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD    AND   FOREST. 

ful  shrubs,  and  the  winds  that  fan  the  brows,  come 
laden  with  odors  which  they  have  gathered  from  beds 
of  roses,  sweetbriers,  and  fragrant  viburnums.  Gold 
finches  and  humming-birds  peep  down  upon  us,  as  they 
are  flitting  among  the  green  branches  of  the  trees,  and 
gilded  butterflies  settle  upon  the  flowers  at  our  feet,  and 
charm  our  eyes  by  the  union  of  life  and  beauty.  In 
the  pastures,  that  are  sparkling  with  an  abundant  pro 
duce  of  wild  fruits,  the  red  lilies  and  downy  spiraea 
appear  in  glowing  profusion ;  and  young  children  who 
go  out  into  the  fields  to  gather  these  simple  luxuries, 
after  having  filled  their  baskets  with  fruit,  crown  their 
.arms  with  bouquets  of  lilies,  laurels,  and  honeysuckles, 
rejoicing  over  their  bounty,  during  the  happiest,  inas 
much  as  it  is  the  most  simple  and  natural  period  of  their 
lives. 

The  glory  of.  our  woods  and  pastures,  at  this  season, 
its  the  mountain-laurel,  (kalmia  latifolia,)  one  of  the 
most  magnificent  flowering  shrubs  of  any  climate.  It 
is  preceded  by  a  more  humble  plant  of  the  same  tribe, 
—  the  low  laurel,  or  lambkill,  bearing  whorls  of  bright 
crimson  flowers,  bound  like  a  wreath  around  the  stem, 
beneath  a  tuft  of  green  leaves  that  terminate  the  branch. 
It  grows  in  open  pastures,  and  in  favorable  situations 
attains  an  almost  unrivalled  beauty.  The  flowers  of 
.the  mountain-laurel  are  equally  beautiful  at  a  distance, 
and  upon  minute  examination,  combining,  in  the 
highest  degree,  those  qualities  so  seldom  united,  splen 
dor  and  delicacy.  These  brilliant  flowers  young  people 
have  always  delighted  to  blend  with  trailing  evergreens, 
in  the  decoration  of  halls  for  their  July  festivities,  and 
being  truly  an  American  species,  they  deserve  more 
than  any  other  plant  to  represent  in  America,  the  cele 
brated  bay-laurel  of  the  Romans. 


JULY.  177 

There  is  no  more  agreeable  recreation,  at  this  season, 
than  a  water-excursion  upon  a  wood-skirted  pond}  when 
its  alluvial  borders  are  brightly  spangled  with  water- 
lilies,  and  the  air  is  full  of  delicate  incense,  from  their 
sweet-scented  double  flowers.  The  pewit  may  be  seen 
gliding,  with  nimble  feet,  upon  the  broad  leaves  that 
float  upon  the  surface  of  the  waters,  so  lightly  as  hardly 
to  impress  a  dimple  on  the  glossy  sheen ;  and  multi 
tudes  of  fishes  are  gambolling  among  their  long  stems, 
in  the  clear  depths  below.  Among  the  fragrant  white 
lilies  are  interspersed  the  more  curious,  though  less  deli 
cate  flowers  of  the  yellow  lily ;  and  in  clusters,  here  and 
there  upon  the  shore,  where  the  turf  is  dank  and  tremu 
lous,  the  purple  sarracenias  bow  their  heads  over  lands 
that  never  felt  a  plough.  The  alders  and  birches  cast  a 
beautiful  shade  upon  the  mirrored  surface  of  the  borders 
of  the  lake,  the  birds  are  singing  melodiously  among 
the  bushes,  and  clusters  of  ripe  raspberries  overhang 
the  banks  within  our  reach,  as  we  sail  along  their 
shelvy  sides. 

But  we  listen  in  vain  in  our  rural  excursions,  at  this 
time,  for  the  songs'  of  multitudes  of  birds  that  were  so 
tuneful  a  few  weeks  since.  The  chattering  bobolink, 
merriest  bird  of  June,  has  become  silent ;  and  he  will 
soon  doff  his  black  coat  and  yellow  epaulettes,  and  put 
on  the  russet  garb  of  winter.  His  voice  is  heard  no 
more  in  concert  with  the  general  anthem  of  nature ;  he 
has  become  silent  with  all  his  merry  kindred ;  and  in 
stead  of  the  lively  notes,  poured  out  so  merrily  for  the 
space  of  two  months,  we  hear  only  a  plaintive  chirping, 
as  the  birds  wander  about  the  fields  in  scattered  parties, 
no  longer  employed  in  the  cares  of  wedded  life.  From 
cheerful  songsters,  apparently  devoted  to  the  entertain 
ment  of  others,  they  are  metamorphosed  into  selfish 


]7S  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

beings,  employed  only  in  providing  for  their  own  physi 
cal  wants.  But  there  are  several  of  our  most  melodi 
ous  warblers  that  still  remain  tuneful.  The  little  wood- 
sparrow  sings  more  loudly  and  with  a  more  varied 
strain  than  ever;  the  vireos  and  wrens  still  enliven  the 
village  gardens,  with  their  almost  unceasing  lays,  and 
the  hermit-thrush,  from  his  deep  sylvan  retreats,  still 
utters  his  liquid  strains,  in  the  reverberating  solitudes  of 
the  woods. 

In  the  place  of  the  birds,  myriads  of  chirping  insects 
have  sprung  into  life,  and  pour  forth,  during  the  heat  of 
the  day,  a  continual  din  of  merry  voices.  Day  by  day 
are  they  stringing  their  harps  anew,  and  leading  out  a 
fresh  host  of  musicians,  and  making  ready  to  gladden 
the  days  of  autumn  with  the  fulness  of  their  songs. 
At  intervals,  during  the  hottest  of  weather,  we  hear  the 
peculiar  spinning  note  of  the  harvest  fly,  a  species  of 
locust,  beginning  low,  and  with  a  gradual  swell,  increas 
ing  in  loudness  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  slowly  dy 
ing  away  into  silence.  These  sounds  are  vividly  asso 
ciated  in  my  mind,  with  the  pleasures  and  languish- 
ments  of  a  summer  noonday ;  of  cool  shades  apart 
from  sultry  heats ;  of  soft  repose  beneath  the  embower 
ing  canopies  of  willows,  or  grateful  repasts  of  fruit  in 
the  summer  orchard.  There  are  likewise  many  sounds 
in  themselves  disagreeable,  which  are  relatively  pleas 
ing.  The  hoarse  unmusical  note  of  the  bull-frog,  while 
we  are  sauntering  about  the  streams  and  lowlands,  on 
a  sultry  afternoon,  produces  an  agreeable  effect  upon 
the  mind,  by  pleasing  suggestions  of  soft  breezes,  still 
waters,  twilight  scenery,  and  all  the  sweet  accompani 
ments  of  a  summer  evening. 

The  season  of  haymaking  has  arrived ;  the  mowers 
are  already  busy  in  their  occupation ;  and  the  whetting 


JULY.  179 

of  the  scythe  blends  harmoniously  with  the  pleasant 
rural  sounds  of  animated  nature.  The  air  is  filled  with 
the  fragrance  of  new  mown  hay  —  the  dying  incense- 
offering  of  the  troops  of  flowers  that  perish  beneath  the 
fatal  scythe.  Many  are  the  delightful  remembrances  to 
those  who  have  spent  their  youth  in  the  country,  con 
nected  with  the  labors  of  haymaking.  In  moderate 
summer  weather,  there  is  no  more  delightful  occupation. 
Every  toil  is  pleasant  that  leads  us  out  into  green  fields, 
and  serves  to  fill  the  mind  with  the  cheerfulness  of  all 
living  things.  But  this  employment,  so  agreeable  to 
one  who  makes  it  only  the  amusement  of  a  few  leisure 
hours  on  a  pleasant  day,  becomes,  at  certain  times,  a 
very  laborious  toil. 

Often  in  the  middle  of  a  clear  sunny  afternoon,  the 
western  horizon  is  suddenly  mantled  with  dark  clouds 
rising  rapidly,  that  threaten  to  spoil  all  the  last  day's 
labor  of  the  haymakers.  Then  all  hands  are  summoned, 
and  there  is  a  general  scrambling  to  gather  the  hay  into 
stacks  or  to  load  it  into  barns.  The  rumbling  thunder 
at  a  distance,  is  constantly  rousing  them  from  every 
relaxation  of  their  efforts,  and  ere  they  have  completed 
their  task,  the  scarce  and  heavy  drops  warn  them  to 
seek  shelter  within  doors.  Immediately  the  rain  de 
scends  in  torrents,  and  the  whole  atmosphere  is  envel 
oped  in  darkness,  that  renders  more  glaring  the  fre- 
qtient  vivid  flashes,  that  precede  the  awful  voice  of 
heaven. 

Soon,  when  the  sun  comes  forth,  as  in  a  new  morn 
ing,  from  behind  his  late  pavilion  of  clouds  and  dark 
ness,  the  rainbow  appears  in  the  opposite  firmament, 
and  the  whole  landscape  smiles  beneath  its  variegated 
beams.  The  birds  fly  out  from  their  shelters,  and  re 
joicing  in  the  reappearance  of  the  sun,  and  the  renova- 


180  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND    FOREST. 

tion  of  exhausted  nature,  they  sing  more  gayly  than  at 
any  other  .period ;  and  the  stillness  and  dampness  of  the 
air  causes  their  notes  to  resound  clearly  through  the 
groves,  now  sparkling  with  the  mingled  rain  drops  and 
sunshine.  Every  herb,  tree,  and  flower,  sends  forth  a 
fresh  offering  of  incense;  and  as  the  sun  declines,  the 
clouds  that  gather  about  his  throne,  receive  from  him  a 
tribute  of  all  the  varied  tints  of  the  rainbow,  and  illu 
minate  the  western  hemisphere  with  a  wreath  of  in 
finitely  variegated  and  constantly  changeable  splen 
dor. 

But  summer,  with  all  its  delightful  occasions  of  joy 
and  rejoicing,  is  in  one  respect  the  most  melancholy 
season  of  the  year.  We  are  now  the  constant  wit 
nesses  of  some  regretful  change  in  the  aspect  of  nature, 
reminding  us  of  the  fate  of  all  things,  and  the  transi- 
toriness  of  existence.  Every  morning  sun  looks  down 
upon  the  graves  of  some  whole  tribes  of  flowers,  that 
were  but  yesterday  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  fields, 
and  the  admiration  of  the  impassioned  beholder*  Every 
time  I  pursue  my  walks,  while  rejoicing  at  the  discovery 
of  some  new  and  beautiful  visitant  of  the  flowery 
meads,  I  am  suddenly  affected  with  sorrow,  upon  look 
ing  around  in  vain  for  some  little  companion  of  my 
latest  excursion,  now  drooping  and  faded,  and  breath 
ing  out  its  last  breath  of  fragrance  into  the  air. 

I  am  then  reminded  of  early  friends  who  are  con 
stantly  leaving  us  for  another  state ;  who  are  cut  down 
one  by  one  like  the  flowers,  and  leave  their  places  to  be 
supplied  by  new  friends,  perhaps  equally  lovely  and 
worthy  of  our  affections,  but  whose  even  greater  loveli 
ness  and  worth,  can  never  comfort  us  for  the  loss  of 
those  who  have  departed.  Like  flowers  they  smile 
upon  us  for  a  brief  season,  and  like  flowers  they  perish,. 


JULY.  18J. 

after  remaining  with  us  but  to  teach  us  how  to  love  and 
how  to  mourn.  The  birds  likewise  sojourn  with  us 
only  long  enough  to  teach  us  the  joy  of  their  presence, 
and  to  afford  us  an  occasion  of  sorrow,  when  they  leave 
our  vicinity.  We  have  hardly  grown  familiar  with 
their  songs,  ere  they  become  silent  and  prepare  for  their 
annual  migration.  They  are  like  those  agreeable  com 
panions  among  our  friends,  who  are  ever  roaming  about 
the  world,  on  errands  of  business,  duty,  or  pleasure,  and 
who  only  divide  with  us  that  pleasing  intercourse  which 
they  share  with  other  friendly  circles  in  different  parts 
of  the  earth. 

It  is  midsummer ;  already  do  we  perceive  the  length 
ening  of  the  nights,  and  the  shortening  of  the  earth's 
diurnal  orbit.  We  are  reminded  by  the  first  observa 
tion  of  this  change,  that  the  summer  is  rapidly  passing 
away;  and  we  think  upon  it  with  a  peculiarly  realizing 
sense  of  the  mutability  of  the  seasons.  But  let  us  not 
lament  that  nature  has  ordained  these  alternations;  for 
though  there  is  no  change  that  does  not  bring  with  it 
some  lingering  sorrows  over  the  past,  —  yet  may  it  not 
be  that  these  vicissitudes  are  the  real  sources  of  that 
happiness,  which  we  ignorantly  attribute  to  another 
cause  ?  Every  month,  while  it  sadly  reminds  us  of  the 
departed  pleasures  and  beauties  of  the  last,  brings  with 
it  a  recompense  in  bounties  and  blessings,  which  the 
last  month  could  not  afford.  While  rejoicing,  therefore, 
amid  the  voluptuous  delights  of  summer,  let  us  not 
lament  that  we  are  not  destined  to  live  for  ever  among 
enervating  luxuries !  With  the  aid  of  temperance  and 
virtue,  all  seasons  as  they  come,  may  be  made  equally 
a  source  of  enjoyment.  And  may  it  not  be,  that  life 
itself  is  but  a  season  in  the  revolving  year  of  eter 
nity  —  the  vernal  season  of  our  immortality  —  that 
16 


182  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

leads  not  round  and  round,  in  a  circle  ;  but  onward  in 
an  everlasting  progression,  from  imperfect  virtue  and 
imperfect  happiness,  to  greater  goodness  and  greater 
bliss,  until  the  virtues  we  now  cherish  have  ripened  into 
eternal  felicity ! 


XXIII. 

THE    SEA-SHORE. 


BY  the  solitary  sea-shore,  near  the  dashing  of  waves, 
that  for  thousands  of  ages  have  ebbed  and  flowed  in  a 
never  tiring  alternation,  I  stand,  and  yield  my  mind  to 
those  sombre  thoughts  suggested  by  the  scenes  about 
me.  The  rocks  that  bound  the  coast,  and  form  a  bul 
wark  for  the  land  against  the  raging  of  the  tempest 
and  the  surging  of  the  billows,  stand  around  in  naked 
desolation,  sublime  in  their  strength  to  resist  the  con 
tending  elements,  and  beautiful  as  they  reflect  the  rays 
of  the  sun  that  gilds  them  when  he  rises  above  the 
green-headed  waves.  The  promontories,  that  extend 
into  the  sea,  call  dismally  to  mind,  the  many  disasters 
they  have  witnessed,  while  contending  against  the 
assaults  of  the  ocean,  and  the  anger  of  the  winds ;  and 
the  echoes,  that  haunt  their  solitary  rocks,  seem  to  repeat 
many  a  tale  of  sorrow  and  misfortune. 

The  sea-gulls  are  sailing  above  my  head,  uttering 
their  trilling  scream,  and  congregating  restlessly  in 
flocks  upon  the  distant  shallows.  Clad  in  their  downy 
plumage,  they  are  alike  impenetrable  by  summer's  heat 
or  winter's  cold.  They  are  merry  and  busy  alike  at  all 
seasons  and  in  all  weather  ;  and  are  never  weary  of 


184  STUDIES   IN  THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

rising  and  sinking,  as  if  life  was  to  them  only  a  scene 
of  moving  and  busy  preparation  for  something  to  come. 
Now  and  then  the  halcyon,  or  kingfisher,  with  a  note 
that  resembles  a  watchman's  rattle,  may  be  seen  stand 
ing  on  a  leafless  branch  of  a  tree,  that  extends  over  the 
wave,  silently  watching  for  his  prey.  His  home  is 
among  the  rocks  of  the  shore,  and  he  has  learned'his 
discordant  notes  from  the  raging  billows,  with  which  he 
loves  to  contend.  He  delights  in  the  sound  of  the 
waters;  and  has  borrowed  the  hues  of  his  plumage 
from  the  azure  that  overspreads  the  surface  of  the  great 
deep. 

There  is  an  aspect  of  desolation  about  the  sea-shore 
that  harmonizes  with  the  plaintive  sounds  that  are 
always  blended  with  the  murmuring  waves;  but  nature 
•  has  strewed  it  with  thousands  of  beautiful  things,  from 
the  huge  rock  that  defends  the  shore,  to  the  minutest 
shells  that  are  scattered  at  our  feet.  Sea-mosses,  of  the 
most  variegated  colors  and  forms,  have  been  washed 
upon  the  sands ;  and  pebbles  of  white  and  red  quartz 
and  green  and  yellow  feldspar,  have  been  ground  to 
perfect  smoothness  by  the  washings  of  centuries.  Mill 
ions  of  curiously  wrought  sea-shells,  of  different  species, 
are  strewed  among  the  red,  yellow,  purple,  and  white 
gravel.  Every  spot  is  filled  with  microscopic  wonders, 
and  many  are  the  fragments  that  tell  of  the  mysterious 
productions,  that  luxuriate  in  the  depths  of  the  sea. 

The  banks  of  earth,  that  gird  a  part  of  the  shore, 
have  been  so  often  assailed  by  storms,  that  but  little 
vegetation  covers  their  sloping  sides.  But  flowers  of 
rare  beauty  may  be  found  clustering  there,  where  nature 
has  planted  many  a  species  that  refuses  to  grow  far  from 
the  briny  spray  of  the  ocean.  Lupines,  with  their  erect 
spikes  of  blue  and  lilac,  are  conspicuous  in  their  sea- 


THE   SEA-SHORE.  185 

son  ;  and  a  few  days  later,  the  maritime  peavine  covers 
roods  of  sand  with  its  dense  green  leaves,  interspersed 
with  tufts  of  purple  flowers,  that  seem  to  peep  out 
timidly  from  under  the  foliage.  Of  more  humble  ap 
pearance,  we  observe  the  sea-sandwort,  and  the  scarlet 
pimpernel,  or  poor  man's  weather-glass,  that  expands  in 
the  broad  sunshine,  but  closes  when  the  sky  is  overcast 
with  clouds,  or  the  wind  blows  freshly  from  the  sea. 
Many  tall  grasses  are  nodding  their  brown  and  purple 
plumes  on  the  edge  of  the  shore  ;  and  as  if  to  rival  the 
beauty  of  the  meadows,  the  marsh  rosemary  gleams 
among  the  herbage,  like  some  fair  blossoms  that  have 
wandered  from  a  brighter  clime.  The  purple  gerardia 
does  not  refuse  to  grow  by  the,  seaside,  and  often  blende 
its  delicate  cups  with  the  green  and  crimson  samphire. 
The  shores  abound  with  many  other  plants  conspicu 
ous  only  for  their  peculiarities.  Such  are  the  prickly 
salt-wort,  and  the  goose-foot  and  the  sea-lovage  that 
are  frequent  by  the  seaside,  and  are  familiarly  asso 
ciated  in  our  minds  with  its  sands  and  its  pebbles. 

There  is  a  mixture  of  beauty,  grandeur,  and  desola 
tion  in  the  objects  about  the  sea-shore,  that  renders  it 
peculiarly  interesting  to  every  man  of  lively  fancy. 
Hence  it  has  ever  been  the  theme  of  the  poet,  from  him 
who  portrays  Chryses,  the  priest  and  bereaved  parent 
wandering  silent  and  sorrowful  by  the  sounding  main, 
regarding  the  sea-shore  as  a  proper  scene  for  a  discon 
solate  father's  grief,  to  the  modern  lyrist  who  apostro 
phizes  the  open  sea.  And  hence  the  sea  and  its  ac 
companiments  have  ever  been  the  haunt  of  beings  of 
the  imagination.  From  every  rock  has  been  heard  the 
sweet  voice  of  the  Siren  ;  and  Nereids,  in  the  semblance 
of  beautiful  nymphs,  reside  in  palaces  of  amber,  far 
down  in  the  fathomless  deep.  Among  the  cliffs  and 

16* 


186  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

caverns  of  the  shore,  and  in  the  dark  mysterious  abysses 
of  the  ocean  itself,  has  fancy  always  delighted  to  pic 
ture  the  residences  of  supernatural  beings,  —  some  of 
whom  are  appointed  to  guard  the  seaman,  in  his  peril 
ous  course ;  while  others,  inhabiting  some  green  sum 
mer  isle,  are  employed  in  tempting  the  voyager  to  turn 
aside  from  his  destination,  to  seek  dangerous  pleasures 
among  its  fruitful  fields. 

The  sublimity  of  the  ocean,  whether  we  behold  it 
from  the  shore,  or  from  midwaters,  has  always  been  the 
delight  of  those  who  take  pleasure  in  lofty  conceptions. 
Here  is  the  boundless  expanse  of  the  ocean  on  one  side, 
allied  with  our  ideas  of  infinity,  and  awaking  senti 
ments  of  grandeur  and  melancholy ;  and  on  the  other, 
green  banks  adorned  with  groves  and  shrubbery,  and 
fringed  with  thousands  of  plants  peculiar  to  the  situa 
tion.  Scenes  of  beauty  and  pastoral  delight,  being 
thus  placed  in  opposition  to  this  wide  waste  of  waters, 
affect  with  a  double  charm  both  the  eye  and  the  mind. 
The  sea-shore  is  a  spot  that  has  ever  been  sacred  to 
musing.  The  contemplative  man  finds  in  its  solitude 
a  pleasant  companionship  with  the  whispering  wave, 
and  with  the  echoes  that  have  ever  dwelt  in  its  clefts 
and  dingles.  The  dashing  of  waves  has  a  deep  solem 
nity  of  expression,  unlike  any  other  sound  in  nature,  as 
they  come  with  a  loud  weltering  upon  the  strand,  and 
then  slide  back,  with  a  diminishing  sound,  and  a  thou 
sand  rippling  notes  among  the  pebbles.  After  being 
disturbed  by  a  tempest,  the  ocean  seems  to  convey  in 
its  sullen  roar,  a  dim  suggestion  of  the  perils  of  the 
deep,  and  of  the  sufferings  of  those  who  have  encoun 
tered  shipwreck  upon  its  merciless  bosom. 

In  connection  with  these  sights  and  sounds,  certain 
fancies  will  come  to  the  mind  while  musing  by  the  sea- 


THE   SEA-SHORE.  187 

side,  that  add  a  tender  melancholy  to  our  reflections, 
and  cause  every  scene,  however  barren,  to  stand  out  to 
the  mental  vision  as  a  picture,  embellished  with  beau 
tiful  and  pathetic  images,  drawn  from  romance  and  real 
life.  Thus  do  the  sombre  shades  of  evening,  when 
blended  with  the  light  of  day,  produce-  those  gorgeous 
but  melancholy  tints,  that  surround  the  sun  at  his  de 
cline.  Some  of  the  most  pleasing  myths  and  tradi 
tions  are  connected  with  the  isles,  promontories,  and 
inlets  of  the  sea.  All  these  affect  the  mind,  however 
unconsciously,  with  a  feeling  of  sadness  and  sublimity, 
while  we  survey  the  broken  scenery  of  the  coast,  and 
listen  to  the  significant  muttering  of  the  waves,  when 
they  threaten  a  storm,  or  to  their  lonely  surging,  after 
the  tempest  is  over. 

Often  on  a  still  evening,  when  the  perplexities  of 
business  and  study  have  fevered  the  mind,  or  misfor 
tune  has  depressed  the  spirits,  have  I  taken  a  solitary 
ramble  by  the  seaside.  All  that  is  lively  does  not  on 
all  occasions  enliven ;  neither  does  all  that  is  solemn 
and  melancholy  always  tend  to  sadden  the  feelings. 
The  mind,  when  it  needs  consolation,  craves  something 
that  is  in  harmony  with  its  afflictions ;  and  nothing  to 
the  stricken  soul  is  so  saddening  as  the  loud  laughter  of 
vacant  hilarity.  But  the  plaintive  music  of  the  whis 
pering  wave,  or  the  solemn  intonations  of  the  mutter 
ing  billows,  when  they  dash  with  frequency  upon  the 
rock-bound  coast,  are  not  depressing.  Though  in  har 
mony  with  the  soul  in  its  melancholy  moods,  they  raise 
the  drooping  spirits  to  an  alliance  with  the  grander 
scenes  of  nature,  and  cheer  them  by  this  exaltation. 

The  Osprey,  as  he  sails  above  my  head,  in  many  a  cir 
cular  sweep,  utters  a  scream  that  is  in  unison  with  the 
lonely  music  of  the  sea ;  and  as  the  day  declines  and 


188  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

the  shades  of  night  are  gathering  about  me,  the  whistle 
of  the  plover  far  aloft  in  the  heavens,  comes  to  the  ear 
like  the  voice  of  some  invisible  being  with  a  message  from 
another  land.  The  birds  of  the  sea-shore  have  no  song. 
Nature,  who  creates  nothing  in  vain,  has  refrained  from 
giving  them  musical  notes,  that  would  be  lost  among 
the  discordant  sounds  which  the  echoes  often  strive 
vainly  to  repeat,  in  the  deafening  confusion  of  their 
roar.  But  the  notes  of  these  birds  are  not  all  wanting 
in  cheerfulness.  The  twittering  of  the  little  sand 
pipers,  that  gather  about  the  flats  at  low  tide,  is  as 
lively  as  their  motions,  and  attracts  the  ear  almost  as 
with  music,  while  we  watch  their  peculiarly  graceful 
flight. 

The  sea-shore  presents  many  scenes  that  are  favor 
able  to  meditation ;  and  the  voices  of  the  waves  seem 
to  have  borrowed  a  pensive  tone  from  the  disasters  they 
have  witnessed,  when  the  tempest  has  driven  upon  the 
rocks,  and  mercilessly  dashed  to  pieces  the  vessel  that 
struggled  against  their  power.  Not  the  least  interest 
ing  objects  of  the  sea-shore  are  those  which  are  bor 
rowed  from  art,  and  made  charming  by  their  connection 
with  the  welfare  of  man.  A  little  skiff  contending 
with  a  rising  gale,  and  just  near  enough  to  the  shore,  to 
afford  an  assurance  that  she  will  land  in  safety ;  a  fleet 
of  joyful  sail  making  headway  out  to  sea,  under  a  gen 
tle  breeze,  with  the  beams  of  the  morning  sun  gilding 
their  canvas,  and  rendering  them  the  more  conspicuous, 
on  the  blue  surface  of  the  deep,  are  objects  ever  excit 
ing  to  the  sympathies  and  interesting  to  the  mind. 

Ye  charming  scenes  of  grandeur ;  ye  naked  rocks 
that  have  battled  for  thousands  of  ages  with  the  tem 
pest  ;  ye  murmuring  billows  that  charm  our  ears  with 
the  very  music  of  melancholy ;  ye  flowery  banks  which 


THE   SEA-SHORE.  189 

have  always  been  the  resort  of  the  sand-martin  and  the 
little  piping  plover ;  —  in  vain  would  I  attempt  to  de 
scribe  the  sentiments  of  mingled  sadness,  cheerfulness, 
and  sublimity,  awakened  by  the  varied  objects  that  sur 
round  the  great  abyss  of  waters.  When  sadness  comes 
upon  the  mind,  like  a  dark  cloud  over  the  vernal  sun 
shine,  let  me  stroll  by  the  seaside,  and  find  a  tonic  for 
the  drooping  spirits,  in  those  sounds  that  have,  for 
countless  centuries,  spoken  in  the  ears  of  man  the 
power  and  the  wisdom  of  their  Creator !  Let  him  who 
is  of  thoughtless  habit  come  here  and  ponder,  until  he 
has  learned  that  from  these  solitary  musings,  comes  a 
purer  and  more  enduring  pleasure,  than  from  all  the 
frivolities  of  high  life.  For  here  by  the  sea-shore 
nature  shows  forth  the  wonders  of  creation,  along  with 
beauties  and  harmonies,  that  fill  the  soul  with  gratitude 
and  delight,  and  yield  to  him  who  wanders  there,  with 
a  devout  spirit,  a  gladness  that  can  spring  only  from 
nature,  and  hopes  that  descend  only  from  the  skies. 


XXIV. 
AU  a  u  ST. 


THE  plains  and  uplands  are  already  green  with  a 
second  growth  of  vegetation.  A  new  spring  has  com 
menced  among  the  tender  herbs,  and  nature  is  rapidly 
repairing  the  devastation  committed  by  the  scythe  of 
the  mower.  But  the  work  of  the  haymaker  is  not 
completed.  He  is  still  swinging  his  scythe  among  the 
tall  sedge-grass  in  the  lowlands  ;  and  the  ill-fated 
flowers  of  August  may  be  seen  lying  upon  the  green 
sward,  among  the  prostrate  herbage.  The  fields  of 
grain  are  bright  with  their  golden  maturity ;  the  work 
of  the  reapers  has  commenced,  and  the  sheaves  of 
wheat  and  rye,  present  to  sight  their  waving  rows  to 
gladden  and  to  bless  the  husbandman.  Flocks  of  quails, 
reared  since  the  decay  of  the  spring  flowers,  are  diligent 
among  the  fields,  after  the  reapers  have  left  their  tasks. 
They  may  be  seen  slily  and  silently  creeping  along  the 
ground ;  and  now  and  then  they  lift  up  their  timid 
heads,  as  they  are  watching  our  approach.  The  loud 
whistling  of  the  guardian  of  the  flock,  perched  at  a 
short  distance  upon  a  wall,  may  also  be  heard;  and 
occasionally,  as  we  saunter  carelessly  along  the  field- 
path,  a  brood  of  partridges,  rising  suddenly,  almost  from 


AUGUST.  191 

\  / 

under  our  feet,  astound  our  ears  with  their  loud  whirring 
flight. 

Since  the  fading  of  the  roses,  the  greater  numbers  of 
the  summer  warblers  have  become  -silent,  as  if  the 
presence  of  these  lovely  flowers  was  necessary  to  in 
spire  them  with  song.  They  have  grown  timid,  and 
have  forsaken  their  usual  habits ;  no  longer  warbling  at 
the  season's  feast  or  rejoicing  in  the  noonday  of  love. 
They  fly  no  longer  in  pairs,  but  assemble  in  flocks, 
which  may  be  seen  rising  and  settling,  at  frequent  inter 
vals,  over  different  parts  of  the  landscape.  Some  species 
are  irregularly  scattered,  while  others  gather  themselves 
into  large  multitudinous  flocks,  and  seem  to  be  enjoy 
ing  a  long  holiday  of  social  festivities,  while  preparing 
to  leave  these  northern  latitudes.  Their  songs,  lasting 
only  during  the  period  of  love,  are  discontinued  since 
their  conjugal  joys  have  ended,  and  the  young  birds  are- 
no  longer  under  their  care.  On  every  new  excursion? 
into  the  woods,  I  perceive  the  sudden  absence  of  some 
important  melodist  of  the  woodland  choir.  During  the- 
interval  between  midsummer  and  early  autumn,  one 
voice  after  another  drops  away,  until  the  little  song- 
sparrow  is  left  again,  to  warble  alone  in  the  fields  and; 
gardens,  where  he  sung  his  earliest  hymn  of  rejoicing- 
over  the  departure  of  winter. 

•  Since  the  birds  have  become  silent,  they  have  lost 
their  pleasant  familiarity  with  man,  and  have  acquired  an 
unwonted  shyness.  The  little  warblers  that  were  wont 
to  sing  on  the  boughs,  just  over  our  heads,  or  at  a  short 
distance  from  our  path,  now  keep  at  a  timid  distance,, 
chirping  with  a  complaining  voice,  and  flee  from  our  ap 
proach,  before  we  are  near  enough  to  observe  their 
altered  plumage.  The  plovers  and  the  pewits  have 
come  forth  from  the  places  where  they  reared  their 


192  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

young,  and  congregate  in  large  flocks  upon  the  marshes; 
and  as  we  stroll  along  the  sea-shore,  we  are  often  agree 
ably  startled  by  the  sudden  twittering  flight  of  these 
graceful  birds,  aroused  from  their  haunts  by  our  unex 
pected  intrusion.  Now  and  then  in  our  sauntering 
tour,  our  ears  are  greeted  by  the  harsh  voice  of  the  king 
fisher,  as  he  sits  motionless  upon  a  branch  that  juts  over 
the  tide,  watching  his  finny  prey;  and  the  stakedriver, 
a  species  of  heron,  is  roused  from  his  retreat,  and  with 
that  peculiar  note  from  which  he  has  derived  his 
name,  pursues  his  awkward  flight  into  the  neighboring 
swamp. 

The  lowland  valleys,  during  the  early  part  of  this 
month,  are  covered  with  their  proudest  luxuriance. 
The  red  fimbriated  orchis  rears  its  elegant  plumes  above 
the  paler  flowers  of  the  arethusa;  the  scarlet  lobelia 
gleams  like  some  flower  of  a  brighter  clime,  around  the 
borders  of  the  rivulets ;  and  the  orange-colored  heads 
of  the  butterfly-weed,  and  the  purple  blossoms  of  the 
Indian  hemp,  meet  our  sight,  at  almost  every  turn  in 
our  wanderings.  Long  rows  of  the  trumpet-weed 
border  the  drains  and  brook-sides,  looking  proudly  over 
the  humble  osier-bushes,  and  the  purple  blossoms  that 
terminate  their  tall  perpendicular  stalks,  may  be  seen 
nodding  in  the  breeze  like  the  plumes  of  a  marching 
company  of  infantry.  Sometimes  when  rambling  in 
deep  woods,  which  have  never  been  reduced  by  the 
hand  of  cultivation,  in  certain  choice  and  secluded 
places  —  the  cloisters  of  the  wilderness  —  the  white 
orchis  may  occasionally  be  discovered,  each  flower 
bearing  resemblance  to  a  delicate  female  with  a  white 
ruff  and  turban.  The  plant  is  almost  parasitic,  having 
its  roots  imbedded  in  the  peat  mosses,  and  not  extend 
ing  into  the  soil.  When  we  meet  these  little  flowers  of 


AUGUST.  193 

the  purest  whiteness,  looking  timidly  out  from  their 
bower  of  ferns,  hedged  around  by  tall  reeds,  and  pro 
tected  by  a  canopy  of  alders,  they  seem  the  apt  emblems 
of  innocence  and  vestal  purity. 

It  is  now  almost  impossible  for  the  rambler  to  pene 
trate  some  of  his  old  accustomed  paths  in  the  lowlands, 
so  thickly  are  they  interwoven  with  vines  and  trailing 
herbs.  Several  species  of  cleavers,  with  their  slender 
prickly  branches,  form  a  close  network  among  the 
rushes  and  ferns ;  and  the  smilax  and  the  blackberry 
vines  weave  an  almost  impenetrable  thicket  in  our 
ancient  pathway.  The  walls  are  festooned  with  the 
blue  flowers  of  the  woody  nightshade,  and  the  more 
graceful  plants  of  the  peavine  and  groundnut  are  twin 
ing  among  the  faded  flowers  of  elders  and  viburnums. 
The  bending  panicles  of  the  blue  vervain  are  nodding 
above  the  yellow  flowers  of  the  tufted  loosestrife,  and 
the  purple  downy  spiraea 'decks  the  borders  of  the  fields 
with  its  numerous  pyramidal  clusters.  The  lowlands 
were  never  more  delightful  than  at  the  present  time  ; 
and  they  afford  one  many  a  refreshing  arbor  beneath 
the  shrubbery,  where  the  waters  have  dried  away,  and 
left  the  green  grass  plat  as  sweetly  scented  as  a  bower 
of  honeysuckles.  These  are  places  that  seern  designed, 
for  our  refreshment  on  summer  noondays :  bowers 
where  it  is  delightful  to  repose  beneath  the  shade  of  the 
slender  birches  whose  tremulous  foliage  seems  to  be 
whispering  to  us  some  pleasant  messages  of  peace.. 
All  around  us  the  convolvulus  has  woven  its  delicate 
vines,  and  hung  out  its  pink  and  striped  bellflowers ;. 
and  the  clematis,  or  virgin's  bower,  has  formed  an  um 
brageous  trellis-work  over  the  tops  of  the  trees.  It» 
white  clustering  blossoms  spread  themselves  out  in. 
triumph  over  the  clambering  grape  vines;  and  wood- 
17 


194  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

bines  and  other  trailing  shrubs  are  interwoven  with  the 
slender  branches  of  the  trees,  forming  deep  shades 
which  the  sun  cannot  penetrate,  overhanging  and  over 
arching  the  green  paths  that  lead  through  the  lowland 
thickets. 

But  let  the  rambler  in  the  wooded  swamps  beware 
of.  that  upas  of  our  forests — the  poison  sumach.  It  is 
one  of  the  most  elegant  of  our  native  shrubs ;  and  its 
long,  slender,  and  graceful  branches,  terminating  with 
pinnate  leaves  on  purple  glossy  stems,  invite  the  un 
wary  rambler  to  pluck  them  from  the  tree,  to  add  to  his 
bouquet  of  wild  flowers.  Hardly  less  dangerous  is  the 
poison  ivy  —  a  plant  of  the  same  genus  —  of  a  trailing 
habit,  almost  parasitic,  and  frequenting  all  kinds  of 
situations.  It  is  often  mistaken  for  the  Virginia 
creeper,  a  very  harmless  and  ornamental  vine ;  and 
may  be  distinguished  from  it  by  observing  that  it  has 
its  leaves  in  threes,  while  the  creeper  bears  them  in 
whorls  of  fives.  The  dread  of  these  plants  destroys  the 
pleasure  which  many  persons  would  otherwise  derive 
from  a  rural  excursion  ;  but  prudence  and  a  knowledge 
of  their  aspect  are  a  sufficient  safeguard  from  injury. 
Though  I  have  never  been  in  the  slightest  degree 
affected  by  them,  yet  whenever  I  meet  them  I  turn 
aside,  and  have  often  left  untouched  a  beautiful  flower, 
or  a  cluster  of  ripe  fruit,  which  could  be  obtained  only 
by  passing  through  a  coppice  of  poison  wood. 

The  odors  that  scent  the  atmosphere,  during  the 
several  months  of  the  year,  are  as  different  as  their 
vegetation  and  climate;  and  these  odors,  to  one  who  is 
accustomed  to  them,  are  immediately  suggestive. of  the 
general  aspect  of  the  season.  At  the  present  time, 
mingled  with  the  perfume  of  flowers,  comes  the  less 
fragrant  incense  from  the  sheaves  of  the  reapers ;  and 


AUGUST.  195 

there  is  an  agreeable  and  peculiar  odor  rising  from  the 
wet  lands,  which  is  characteristic  of  the  month.  Early 
in  the  spring,  when  the  mellow  soil  first  receives  the 
warm  rays  of  the  sun,  we  perceive  a  healthful  incense 
from  the  newly  springing  herbs.  This  is  soon  succeeded 
by  the  fragrance  of  the  early  flowers,  and  of  the 
tasselled  trees  and  shrubs.  Day  by  day  new  hosts  of 
flowers  arrive  in  succession,  until  the  air  is  full  of  the 
spicy  aroma  of  early  summer.  With  August  com 
mences  the  decline  of  these  delicious  gifts  of  vegeta 
tion;  and  the  scents  of  autumn  and  of  the  harvest  be 
come  daily  more  abundant,  until  the  arrival  of  the  frosts, 
that  fill  the  atmosphere  with  those  peculiar  odors  that 
mark  the  fall  of  the  leaf. 

When  the  pale  orchis  of  the  meads  is  dead,  and  the 
red  lily  stands  divested  of  its  crown  ;  when  the  arethusa 
no  longer  bends  her  head  over  the  stream,  and  the  last 
roses  are  weeping  incense  over  the  faded  remnants  of 
their  lovely  tribe  —  then  I  know  that  the  glory  of  sum 
mer  has  departed  ;  and  I  look  not,  until  the  coming  of 
the  asters  and  the  goldenrods,  to  see  the  fields  again 
robed  in  loveliness  and  beauty.  The  meeker  flowers 
have  perished,  since  the  singing  birds  have  discontinued 
their  songs,  and  the  last  rose  of  summer  may  be  seen, 
blooming  upon  its  stem,  in  solitary  and  melancholy 
beauty  —  the  lively  emblem  of  the  sure  decline  of  the 
beautiful  objects  of  this  life ;  the  lovely  symbol  of  beau 
ty's  frailty  and  its  transientness.  When  the  last  rose  is 
gone,  I  look  around  with  sadness  upon  its  late  familiar 
haunts;  I  feel  that  summer's  beauty  now.  is  past,  and 
sad  mementos  rise  wherever  I  tread. 

It  is  my  delight  to  seek  for  these  last  born  of  the 
tribe  of  roses ;  and  they  seem  to  my  sight  more  beauti- 


196  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND    FOKEST. 

ful  than  any  that  preceded  them,  as  if  nature,  like  a 
partial  mother,  had  lavished  her  best  gifts  upon  these, 
her  youngest  children.  The  bushes  that  support  them 
are  overtopped  by  other  plants,  that  seem  to  feel  an 
envious  delight  in  concealing  them  from  observation; 
but  they  cannot  blot  them  from  our  memory,  nor  be 
admired  as  we  admire  them.  The  clethra,  with  its 
white  odoriferous  flowers,  and  the  button-bush,  with  its 
elegant  globular  heads,  vainly  strive  to  equal  them  in 
fragrance  or  beauty.  The  proud  and  scornful  thistle 
rears  its  head  close  by  their  side,  and  seems  to  mock  at 
the  fragility  of  these  lovely  flowers ;  but  the  wild-brier, 
though  its  roses  have  faded,  still  gives  out  its  undying 
perfume,  as  if  the  essence  of  the  withered  flowers  still 
lingered  about  their  leafy  habitation,  like  the  spirits  of 
our  departed  friends,  about  the  places  they  loved  in  their 
lifetime. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  month,  we  begin  to  mark  the 
approaching  footsteps  of  autumn.  Twilight  is  chill ; 
and  we  perceive  the  greater  length  of  the  nights,  and 
evening's  earlier  dew.  The  morning  sun  is  later  in  the 
heavens,  and  sooner  tints  the  fleecy  clouds  of  evening. 
The  bright  verdure  of  the  trees  has  faded  to  a  more 
dusky  green  ;  and  here  and  there  in  different  parts  of  the 
woods,  may  be  observed  a  sere  and  yellow  leaf,  like  the 
white  hairs  that  are  interspersed  among  the  dark  brown 
tresses  of  manhood,  and  indicate  the  sure  advance  of 
hoary  years.  The  fields  of  ripe  and  yellow  grain  are 
gleaming  through  the  open  places  in  the  woods,  making 
a  pleasant  contrast  with  their  greenness,  and  exhibiting, 
in  the  same  instant,  the  signs  of  a  cheerful  harvest,  arid 
the  melancholy  decay  of  vegetation.  The  swallows  are 
assembling  their  little  hosts  upon  the  roofs  and  fences, 


AUGUST.  197 

preparing  for  their  annual  migration,  and  all  animate 
and  inanimate  things  announce  the  speedy  decline  of 
summer. 

Already  do  I  hear,  at  nightfall,  the  chirping  of  the 
cicadas,  whose  notes  are,  at  the  same  time,  the  harvest 
hyrnn  of  nature,  and  a  dirge  over  the  departure  of 
flowers.  When  the  evenings  are  perceptibly  length 
ened,  and  the  air  partakes  of  the  exhilarating  freshness 
of  autumn,  these  happy  insects  commence  their  an 
thems  of  gladness ;  and  their  monotonous,  but  agree 
able  melody,  is  in  sweet  unison  with  the  general 
serenity  of  nature.  Though  these  voices  come  from 
myriads  of  cheerful  hearts,  there  is  yet  a  plaintiveness 
in  their  modulation,  which,  like  the  songs  we  heard  in 
our  early  years,  calls  up  the  pensive  remembrance  of 
scenes  that  are  past,  and  turns  our  thoughts  inwardly 
upon  almost  forgotten  joys  and  sorrows.  How  differ 
ent  are  these  emotions  from  those  awakened  by  the  first 
sound  of  the  piping  frogs  that  hail  the  opening  of 
spring,  and  which  are  attended  by  feelings  of  unmin- 
gled  cheerfulness!  All  these  sounds,  though  perhaps 
not  designed  particularly  for  man,  seem  adapted  by 
nature  to  harmonize  agreeably  with  our  feelings ;  and 
there  is  a  soothing  and  lulling  influence  in  the  song  of 
the  cicadas,  that  softens  into  tranquillity  the  melan 
choly  it  inspires,  and  tempers  all  our  sadness  with 
pleasure. 

We  no  longer  perceive  that  peculiar  charm  of  spring 
vegetation,  that  comes  from  the  health  and  the  fresh 
ness  of  every  growing  thing;  and  we  cannot  help  asso 
ciating  the  flowers  of  August,  with  the  dry,  withered, 
and  dying  plants  that  everywhere  surround  them.  In 
June,  every  thing  in  the  aspect  of  nature  is  harmonious; 
all  is  greenness  and  gladness,  and  nothing  appears  in 
17* 


198  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

company  with  the  flowers,  to  disfigure  their  charms,  or 
to  affect  the  sight  with  displeasure.  But  August  pre 
sents  a  motley  spectacle  of  rank  and  inelegant  weeds, 
that  overshadow  the  flowers,  and  the  beauty  of  the 
fields  is  often  hidden  by  the  withered  vegetation  of  the 
last  month.  This  appearance,  however,  is  obvious  only 
in  those  places  which  have  been  disturbed  by  the 
ploughshare.  Where  the  fields  still  remain  in  a  wild 
.state,  nature  preserves,  throughout  the  season,  more  or 
less  of  that  harmony,  which  is  so  remarkable  in  the 
early  months.  Wherever  the  hand  of  mart  has  dis 
turbed  the  order  of  nature,  there,  until  she  has  had 
time  to  repair  the  mischief  he  has  done,  rank  weeds 
spring  up  and  disfigure  the  prospect,  while  in  the  native 
wilds,  all  things  succeed  one  another  in  a  delightful  and 
harmonious  progression. 

It  is  in  the  tilled  lands  only  that  we  observe  those 
<dreary  collections  of  luxuriant  weeds  and  decayed  herb 
age,  intermingled  with  flowers  that  seem,  on  account  of 
their  beauty,  to  deserve  a  better  fate.  In  the  wilds, 
nature  always  preserves  the  harmony  of  her  seasons. 
Each  herb  and  flower  appears  at  proper  time ;  and 
when  one  species  has  attained  maturity,  it  gives  place 
to  its  rightful  successor,  without  any  confusion,  all 
rising  and  declining  like  the  heavenly  hosts  of  night, 
.and  clothing  the  face  of  the  landscape  in  perpetual 
.bloom  and  verdure.  Seldom  do  we  behold  a  parterre 
that  equals  in  beauty  those  half  wild  spots,  where  after 
a  partial  clearing  of  the  forest,  nature  has  been  left  to 
herself  a  sufficient  time  to  recover  from  the  effects  of 
art,  and  to  rear  those  plants  which  are  best  fitted  to  the 
soil  and  the  season. 

Let  the  lover  of  flowers  and  landscapes  who  would 
learn  how  to  gather  round  his  dwelling  all  those  rural 


AUGUST.  199 

beauties,  that  will  meet  and  blend  in  harmony,  receive 
his  lesson  from  nature  in  her  own  wilds.  Let  him  look 
upon  her  countenance,  before  it  has  been  disfigured  by 
a  barbarous  art,  to  acquire  his  ideas  of  beauty  and  pro 
priety,  and  he  will  never  mar  her  features,  by  adding 
gems  that  do  not  harmonize  with  their  native  expres 
sion,  plucked  from  the  bosom  of  a  foreign  clime.  Then, 
although  he  may  not  sit  under  the  shade  of  the  palm  or 
the  myrtle,  or  roam  among  sweet-scented  orange 
groves,  in  the  climate  of  northern  fruits  and  northern 
flowers,  he  needs  no  foreign  trees  or  shrubbery  to  deco 
rate  his  grounds,  or  adapt  them  to  his  pleasures.  In  a 
forest  of  his  own  native  pines,  he  may  find  an  arbor  in 
summer  and  a  shelter  in  winter,  as  odoriferous  as  a 
grove  of  cinnamon  and  myrtles ;  and  the  fruits  of  his 
own  orchards  will  yield  him  a  repast  more  savory  than 
the  produce  of  the  Indies. 


XXV. 

THE    THREE    DEITIES. 


THREE  Deities  preside  in  Nature's  fane, 
And  turn  to  bliss  the  bounties  of  her  reign. 
They  hold  her  fairest  offerings,  and  distil, 
Like  dew  from  heaven,  the  better  joys  that  fill 
The  earth  to  bless  all  creatures.     Every  place 
Is  made  resplendent  with  their  light  and  grace. 
They  shed  on  earth  and  scatter  o'er  the  sphere 
All  those  bright  gifts  that  charm  the  varied  year. 
For  them  mild  Vesper  sheds  her  parting  glow, 
And  Iris  lifts  in  heaven  her  showery  bow. 
For  them  the  Dryads  wreathe  the  moss-grown  wood, 
And  dress  the  mead,  and  paint  the  silvery  flood. 
Each  little  leaf  that  rustles  on  the  spray, 
Through  which  the  zephyrs  sing  their  roundelay, 
The  sounds  of  darkness,  heard  when  night  is  still,' 
The  whispering  waves,  the  breeze  upon  the  hill, 
By  them  are  tuned  to  pleasure,  and  designed 
As  bonds  of  love  to  nature  and  mankind. 

The  first  of  these  is  Beauty ;  with  her  fingers, 
She  pencils  all  the  hues  where  twilight  lingers. 
The  moon's  soft  beam  is  hers,  the  fire-fly's  light, 
The  meteor's  flash,  the  diamond  host  of  night ; 


THE   THREE  DEITIES.  201 

The  clouds  that  spread  their  silken  webs  on  high, 

The  water's  sheen,  the  azure  of  the  sky : 

All  things  that  sweetly  glow,  or  brightly  shine, 

At  purple  dawn. of  morn,  or  day's  decline. 

She  gives  the  insect  host  their  varied  stain, 

And  calls  the  wild  flowers  out  upon  the  plain. 

For  her  the  queen  of  spring  adorns  her  walks, 

Tints  the  green  herbs,  and  binds  upon  their  stalks 

Gems  of  the  purest  radiance,  azure  bells, 

And  hyacinths,  and  pensive  asphodels. 

The  native  wilds,  the  cultivated  farms, 

Springtime  and  summer,  with  their  glowing  charms, 

And  autumn,  with  his  myriad  hues,  dispense 

Her  favors  in  unbounded  affluence. 

There 's  not  a  flower  that  blossoms  in  the  field, 

Or  ruddy  tint  the  twilight  has  revealed ; 

A  gladdening  beam  upon  the  cheek  of  morn, 

Or  sparkling  wreath  the  mountain's  brows  have  worn, 

That  beauty  has  not  reared  to  charm  the  soul, 

And  bind  it  to  the  earth,  as  by  divine  control. 

Then  Music  comes  —  the  second  of  the  twain, 
With  warbling  birds  and  echoes  in  her  train, 
Led  on  by  zephyrs.     In  her  hand  she  bears 
A  lute,  writh  chords  to  charm  away  our  cares. 
She 's  Beauty's  sister-twin.     The  summer  gales 
Are  her  attendants,  whom  o'er  hills  and  dales, 
She  sends  to  bear  her  tuneful  melodies, 
And  harmonize  them  with  the  vocal  breeze. 
Her's  are  the  songs  of  morn,  the  evening  bell, 
The  voices  borne  from  mountain,  rock,  and  fell ; 
The  gentle  whispers  of  the  pebbly  shore, 
And  murmurs  of  its  more  tumultuous  roar. 


202  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

The  babbling  echoes,  that  in  deserts  rude, 
Delight  to  cheer  the  silent  solitude 
With  voices,  are  her  daughters.     Creeping  things, 
That  cherup  from  the  hedges  and  the  springs ; 
The  feathered  warblers  of  the  grove ;  the  leaves, 
That  murmur  when  the  rustling  zephyr  heaves, 
Are  her  peculiar  charge.     At  eventide, 
If  you  go  forth  along  the  green  hill-side, 
You  then  will  feel  her  presence,  and  confess 
Her  power  to  add  to  nature's  loveliness. 

But  there  is  still  a  loftier  power,  who  sprang 

From  heaven,  when  first  the  stars  of  morning  sang 

Rejoicings,  as  the  Ruler  of  the  spheres 

Apportioned  time  in  seasons,  days,  and  years ; 

Her  name  Sublimity  —  the  skies  her  throne  — 

Her  dwelling-place  unfathomed  and  unknown ! 

The  blue  serene  of  heaven  she  studs  with  stars, 

And  rolls  the  meteors  in  their  fiery  cars. 

She  loves  to  pause  where  mighty  torrents  dash 

Down  deep  abysses  ;  where  the  billows'  crash 

Is  heard  upon  some  lonely  rock-bound  coast, 

And  moaning  winds  tell  tales  of  vessels  wrecked  and  lost; 

Where  mountains  rear  their  summits,  lightnings  flare, 

And  northern  lights  emit  their  lurid  glare. 

She  holds  dominion  o'er  the  boundless  deep, 

When  waves  are  dashed  on  high,  or  when  they  calmly 

sleep. 

Hers  are  the  prairies  and  the  seas,  where  space 
Is  limitless,  and  where  the  plains  embrace 
The  circling  skies.     She  lends  a  needful  aid 
To  Beauty's  mild  creations.;  thus  displayed, 
Each  gives  to  each  a  more  enlivening  power, 
As  moonlight  beautifies  the  solemn  midnight  hour. 


XXVI. 

ANGLING 


I  HAVE  often  thought  that  the  practice  of  angling  was 
so  intimately  connected  with  the  prospect  of  green 
fields,  and  the  smell  of  fresh  meadows,  that  the  general 
fondness  for  the  sport,  originated  in  a  great  measure,  in 
our  love  of  nature.  I  am  so  far,  therefore,  from  con 
sidering  the  angler  a  model  of  patience,  as  Dr.  Franklin 
regarded  him,  that  I  would  rather  look  upon  him  as  a 
sort  of  indolent  devotee  of  nature,  who  prefers  the 
voluptuous  quiet  of  this  sedentary  sport  to  the  more- 
active  habits  of  the  gunner,  the  botanist,  or  the  geolo 
gist.  There  are  individuals,  undoubtedly,  who  delight 
in  angling  from  the  love  of  the  sport  itself.  Such  are 
our  inveterate  fishers  around  the  wharves  and  harbors, 
and  who  are  generally  better  acquainted  with  the  respec 
tive  flavors  of  the  different  species  of  the  finny  tribe, 
than  with  fishes  as  subjects  of  natural  history.  But 
the  majority  of  anglers  will  be  found  to  be  genuine 
lovers  of  nature ;  and  like  old  Izaac  Walton,  as  famil 
iar  with  the  plants  that  are  growing  at  their  feet,  as  with 
the  little  shining  inhabitants  of  the  lake  and  stream. 

I  am  not  of  that  sect  of  the  humane  who  would  con 
demn  angling,  on  account  of  its  cruelty.  The  pangs 


204  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

suffered  by  a  little  fish,  while  expiring  on  the  green 
bank  are  but  momentary,  and  probably  not  to  be  com 
pared  with  those  of  a  bird,  when  first  taken  from  his 
native  haunts,  and  shut  up  in  a  cage.  Fishes  do  not 
seem  to  be  endowed  with  the  sense  of  feeling,  or  touch, 
and  have  a  brain  so  small  as  hardly  to  afford  them  a 
very  definite  consciousness.  They  have  the  senses  of 
sight,  of  hearing,  of  smell,  and  of  taste,  for  without 
these  they  could  not  provide  for  their  own  wants. 
They  possess  a  very  low  form  of  intelligence  and  sen 
sibility,  and  may  be  severely  cut,  without  showing 
signs  of  feeling.  If  we  wound  a  poor  bird,  he  may 
lead  a  life  of  pain  and  misery  for  many  weeks.  He  is 
a  creature  of  warm  blood,  endowed  with  intelligence, 
and  a  capacity  for  grief.  He  is  regarded  as  the  com 
panion  and  benefactor  of  man,  and  as  having  certain 
inalienable  rights  —  such  as  the  enjoyment  of  life  and 
liberty,  and  the  means  of  obtaining  a  livelihood.  But 
fishes,  the  voracious  devourers  of  their  own  young, 
whom  they  cannot  recognize  and  do  not  protect,  are 
plainly  incapable  of  mental  suffering,  and  may  be  taken 
in  unlimited  quantities,  without  danger  of  causing  an 
inconvenient  scarcity.  Hence,  though  all  living  crea 
tures  are  more  or  less  endowed  with  a  power  of  feeling 
pleasure  and  pain,  and  have  a  certain  right  to  the  enjoy 
ment  of  life,  I  regard  the  destruction  of  a  fish  in  the 
same  light  as  the  killing  of  a  fly,  or  the  trampling  on  a 
worm.  I  would  not  needlessly  destroy  an  insect,  or  set 
foot  upon  a  worm ;  but  I  believe  the  united  sufferings 
of  a  thousand  fishes  in  the  agonies  of  death,  would  not 
equal  the  pangs  suffered  by  one  little  child  with  a  burnt 
finger. 

There  is  no  other  sport  so  well  adapted  to  the  habits 
of  a  thoughtful  man, -as  that  of  angling,  leading  him 


ANGLING.  205 

out  at  noonday,  under  the  shade  of  trees,  or  in  the 
evening  by  the  glassy  stream,  on  whose  mirrored  sur 
face  he  may  view  the  surrounding  hills  and  woods,  while 
watching  for  the  dimpling  movements  of  the  water 
that  indicate  the  nibbling  of  the  fish.  There  can  be  no 
more  delightful  recreation  in  serene  summer  weather, 
when  the  heat  of  the  atmosphere  will  not  permit  one 
to  engage  in  more  active  toil  or  amusement.  And 
there  is  no  end  to  the  pleasing  fancies  in  which  one 
may  indulge  the  mind,  while  listening  to  the  varied 
notes  of  the  birds,  that  always  frequent  the  borders  of 
streams  and  lakes,  or  watching  the  motions  of  some 
little  animal,  that  will  occasionally  peep  out  upon  one, 
while  occupied  in  his  quiet  amusement. 

When  we  are  seeking  after  pleasure,  it  is  not  always 
the  prominent  object  of  pursuit  that  is  the  source  of 
the  principal  enjoyments  we  experience.  Our  object 
may  be  an  errand  of  business,  in  itself  disagreeable, 
and  our  pleasures  may  spring  from  our  adventures  and 
observations,  during  the  time  occupied  in  the  perform 
ance  of  the  errand.  A  walk  is  seldom  interesting,  how 
ever  pleasant  the  scenery  and  other  objects  on  the  roadr 
if  we  are  sauntering  without  any  particular  aim.  But 
if  we  have  gone  out  to  accomplish  a  certain  purpose,, 
which  is  of  sufficient  importance  to  keep  up  our  resolu 
tion  to  proceed,  every  scene  on  the  road  may  be  produc 
tive  of  a  high  degree  of  pleasure.  Thus  it  seems  to  me 
that  in  angling,  the  pleasure  of  the  pursuit  is,  in  almost 
all  cases,  derived  from  collateral  circumstances,  though 
the  latter  would  be  nothing  without  the  purpose  before 
us  of  taking  our  finny  game. 

The  pleasure  of  angling  consists  in  having  something 
agreeable  to  occupy  the  mind,  while  indulging  in  the 
voluptuous  sensations  that  attend  us,  when  surrounded 

18 


206  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

by  the  agreeable  circumstances  of  green  fields,  fragrant 
woods,  and  pleasant  prospects.  To  sit  beside  a  stream 
for  half  a  day,  under  the  spreading  branches  of  an  oak, 
would  be  but  a  dull  amusement  for  the  most  enthusias 
tic  lover  of  nature,  if  he  had  no  purpose  in  view,  except 
to  enjoy  the  mere  sensations  derived  from  surrounding 
objects.  But  let  him  throw  a  hook  and  bait  into  the 
stream,  with  the  intention  of  taking  a  few  fishes  to 
grace  his  table ;  and  however  insignificant  their  value, 
it  is  sufficient  to  furnish  a  motive  for  watching  a  float 
for  many  hours.  The  expectations  which  are  thus 
aroused,  and  the  agreeable  exercise  of  the  attention  and 
the  ingenuity,  with  the  additional  pleasure  derived 
from  the  varied  scenery,  the  fresh  odors  of  vegetation, 
and  the  many  agreeable  sounds  from  animated  nature, 
unite  in  rendering  it  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  em 
ployments. 

Though  I  have  never  been  a  skilful  or  inveterate 
angler,  yet  the  review  of  my  angling  excursions  always 
brings  before  me,  some  of  my  most  pleasing  recollec 
tions.  The  stillness  of  the  occupation  prepares  the  mind 
to  receive  impressions  from  surrounding  objects,  with 
singular  vividness.  The  sight  of  the  little  fishes,  as  they 
are  darting  about  among  the  long  stems  of  the  water- 
lilies,  is  then  as  pleasant  to  us  as  to  a  child.  We 
watch  every  minute  object  with  close  attention,  though 
it  be  but  the  little  water-beetles  as  they  whirl  about  in 
still  water  near  the  shore,  or  the  minute  blossoms  of  the 
potamogeton,  that  lift  up  their  heads  above  the  glassy 
wave.  The  lighting  of  a  butterfly  on  the  blue  spikes 
of  the  pickerel-weed,  or  the  humming  of  a  dragonfly, 
as  he  pursues  his  microscopic  prey  among  the  tall 
sedges  and  pond-weeds,  never  fail  to  attract  our  notice, 
while  engaged  in  our  day-dreaming  occupation. 


ANGLING.  207 

While  watching  the  float,  as  it  sails  gently  about 
with  the  wind,  occasionally  dimpling  the  surface  of  the 
water,  we  do  not  confine  our  attention  to  this  alone. 
Not  a  bubble  on  the  glossy  sheen  of  the  lake,  or  the 
flitting  shadow  of  a  cloud  as  it  passes  over  the  sky, 
escapes  our  notice.  Every  thing  that  moves,  and  every 
thing  that  can  be  seen  or  heard,  excites  our  curiosity  as 
in  the  still  darkness  of  night.  When  the  fishes  are 
inactive,  as  they  often  are  during  the  heat  of  the  day, 
we  have  little  to  do  except  to  watch  and  observe  the 
scenes  and  objects  around  us.  At  such  times  our  atten 
tion  is  frequently  attracted  to  something,  that  hitherto 
might  always  have  been  unobserved ;  and  the  squirrel 
that  sits  watching  us  on  the  bough  of  a  neighboring 
tree;  the  little  bird  that  is  busy  weaving  stems,  at  no 
great  distance,  into  the  fork  of  a  hazel-bush,  and  the 
sober  cattle  that  have  waded  up  to  their  knees  into  the 
shallow  water,  are  all  observed  and  studied  with  delight. 

But  the  amusement  of  angling  is  not  associated  with 
sedentary  observations  alone  ;  it  is  also  connected  with 
many  interesting  excursions  in  quest  of  more  lucky 
fishing  ground.  How  often  has  it  led  us  into  delightful 
explorations  of  the  woody  boundaries  of  ponds,  carry 
ing  us  into  seemingly  impenetrable  thickets,  and  caus 
ing  the  sudden  discovery  of  some  beautiful  or  curious 
plant,  hitherto  unknown  to  us,  or  introduced  us  to  some 
new  and  interesting  bird  or  quadruped.  It  was  on  one 
of  these  rambles,  by  its  musical  and  melancholy  coo- 
ings,  that  I  first  discovered  the  wicker-nest  of  the  turtle 
dove,  with  its  solitary  egg,  in  the  branches  of  a  slender 
white  pine.  On  one  of  these  occasions,  also,  I  encoun 
tered  for  the  first  time,  the  drooping  fragrant  flower  of 
the  linnaea  borealis  —  that  exquisite  production  of 


208  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

northern  climes,  which  is  aptly  named  for  the  great 
Swedish  botanist. 

But  the  exercise  alone,  with  the  continual  excitement 
of  the  curiosity  is  sufficient  to  give  interest  to  these 
excursions.  Now  we  are  led  into  green  paths,  through 
the  fragrant  bushes,  some  laden  with  flowers  and  others 
with  fruit ;  now  half-bewildered  by  their  intricacies, 
and  then  suddenly  stumbling  into  a  romantic  view  of 
the  water  and  the  surrounding  scenery.  Soon  we  pass 
into  a  deep  dell,  forming  the  bed  of  a  stream,  which  has 
given  rise  to  a  multitude  of  rare  and  curious  plants, 
and  rouse  the  variegated  summer  duck  from  a  solitary 
pool,  imbosomed  in  the  thicket ;  finally,  having  arrived 
at  an  open  pasture,  a  flock  of  sheep,  startled  at  our 
approach,  scamper  off  with  resounding  feet  to  a  distant 
elevation.  Then  do  we  think  with  peculiar  delight 
upon  the  pleasures  of  rural  life,  and  regret  that  neces 
sity  which  is  ever  leading  us  away  from  the  abodes  of 
peace  and  happiness.  After  performing  a  tour  around 
the  pond,  we  return  perhaps  to  our  original  fishing 
ground,  pleased  with  the  simple  adventures  we  have 
encountered,  and  prepared  to  commence  anew  our  pa 
tient  toil. 

As  the  decline  of  day  begins  to  be  apparent,  the 
fishes  are  more  active  in  their  nibbling,  and  there  is  a 
more  general  stir  among  all  the  creatures  of  the  field 
and  wood.  The  thrushes  are  more  musical  in  the 
neighboring  thicket,  and  the  yellow-throat  comes  within 
a  few  yards  of  us,  and  sings  upon  the  branch  of  an 
alder  bush,  as  if  he  was  pleased  with  our  company. 
The  frogs  begin  to  be  more  loquacious,  and  our  atten 
tion  is  attracted  by  different  objects  from  those  we 
observed  at  noonday  or  in  the  morning.  A  tortoise, 


ANGLING.  209 

now  and  then,  protrudes  its  beak  and  eyes  above  the 
smooth  sheen  of  the  water,  a  little  fish  leaps  out  and 
makes  a  sudden  plash,  or  a  solitary  snipe,  with  twitter 
ing  notes,  pursues  its  graceful  flight  along  the  shore. 

At  this  time,  our  luck  as  fishermen  is  usually  the 
most  propitious.  The  fishes  that  seem  averse  to  the 
warm  rays  of  the  sun,  come  out  of  deep  water,  as  day 
declines,  and  look  out  for  their  prey,  and  are  more 
active  in  nibbling  the  bait.  After  this  time,  in  the  space 
of  half  an  hour,  we  often  take  fishes  enough  to  make 
amends  for  any  previous  bad  luck.  Presently  the  float 
grows  dim  to  the  sight,  the  dew  is  perceptible  on  the 
grass,  and  the  evening  star,  as  it  shines  through  the 
semicircle  of  light  that  surrounds  the  place  where  the 
sun  went  down,  reminds  us  of  home. 

We  prepare  for  our  return,  and  for  a  change  of  scene 
and  rest  from  our  weariness ;  and  home  is  never  so  de 
lightful  as  it  is  after  one  of  these  excursions.  There  is 
a  luxury  in  our  rest  from  toil  which  has  been  wearying 
but  not  excessive ;  and  the  pleasures  of  social  inter 
course  with  our  domestic  circle  are  also  greatly  en 
hanced  by  a  half  day's  solitude.  We  partake  of  the 
bounties  of  our  own  table  with  a  zest  that  seems  to 
prove  it  to  be  the  design  of  nature,  that  man  should 
toil  for  his  subsistence,  if  he  means  to  enjoy  the  good 
things  of  her  bounty.  Thus  terminates  an  amusement 
that  brings  us  nearer  to  nature,  while  we  are  engaged 
in  it,  that  leads  to  pleasant  observations  and  tranquil 
musings,  while  it  prepares  the  mind  to  feel  a  renewed 
pleasure,  when  wearied  but  not  exhausted,  we  seek  rest 
in  the  bosom  of  our  family. 

18* 


XXVII. 

THE    FLOWERLESS    PLANTS. 


As  a  tribe  of  vegetable  curiosities,  pleasantly  asso 
ciated  with  cool  grots,  damp  shady  woods,  rocks  rising 
in  the  midst  of  the  forest,  with  the  edges  of  fountains,' 
the  roofs  of  old  houses,  and  the  trunks  and  decayed 
branches  of  trees,  may  be  named  the  flowerless  plants. 
Few  persons  know  the  extent  of  their  advantages  in 
the  economy  of  vegetation;  still  less  are  they  aware 
how  greatly  they  contribute  to  the  beauty  of  some  of 
the  most  beautiful  places  in  nature,  affording  tints  for 
the  delicate  shading  of  many  a  native  landscape,  and 
an  embossment  for  the  display  of  some  of  the  fairest 
flowers  of  the  field.  The  violet  and  the  anemone,  that 
peep  out  upon  us  in  the  opening  of  spring,  have  a 
livelier  glow  and  animation  when  imbosomed  in  their 
green  beds  of  mosses,  and  the  arethusa  blushes  more 
beautifully  by  the  side  of  the  stream,  when  over 
shadowed  by  the  broad  pennons  of  the  umbrageous 
fern.  The  old  tree  with  its  mosses  wears  a  look  of 
freshness  in  its  decay,  the  bald  rock  loses  its  baldness, 
with  its  crown  of  lichens  and  ferns,  and  every  barren 
spot,  in  the  pastures  or  by  the  way-side,  is  enlivened 
and  variegated  by  the  carpet  of  flowerless  plants,  that 


THE   FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  211 

spread  their  green  gloss  and  many-colored  fringes  over 
the  surface  of  the  soil. 

Mosses  enter  into  all  our  ideas  of  picturesque  ruins  ; 
for  they  alone  are  evidence  that  the  ruins  are  the  work 
of  time.  An  artificial  ruin  can  have  no  such  accom 
paniment,  until  time  has  hallowed  it  by  veiling  its  sur 
face  with  these  memorials.  They  join  with  the  ivy  in 
adorning  the  relics  of  ancient  grandeur,  and  spread 
over  the  perishable  works  of  art  the  symbols  of  a 
beauty  that  endureth  for  ever.  While  they  are  allied 
to  ruins,  and  remind  us  of  age  and  decay,  they  are 
themselves  glowing  in  the  freshness  of  youth,  and 
cover  the  places  they  occupy  with  a  perpetual  verdure. 
They  cluster  around  the  decayed  objects  of  nature  and 
art,  and  are  themselves  the  nurseries  of  many  a  little 
flower  that  depends  on  them  for  sustenance  and  protec 
tion.  Though  they  bear  no  flowers  upon  their  stems, 
they  delight  in  cherishing  in  their  soft  velvet  knolls  the 
wood-anemone,  the  starwort,  (Houstonia  caerulea,)  the 
cypripedium,  and  the  white  orchis  —  the  nun  of  the 
meadows  —  whose  roots  are  imbedded  among  the  fibres 
of  the  peat  mosses,  and  derive  support  from  the  moist 
ure  that  is  accumulated  around  them.  Nature  has  pro 
vided  them  as  a  protection  to  many  delicate  plants, 
which,  embowered  in  their  capillary  foliage,  are  enabled 
to  sustain  the  heat  of  summer  and  the  cold  of  winter, 
and  remain  secure  from  the  browsing  herds. 

Winter,  which  is  a  time  of  sleep  with  the  higher 
vegetable  tribes,  is  a  season  of  activity  with  many  of 
the  flowerless  plants.  There  are  certain  species  of 
mosses  and  lichens  that  vegetate  under  the  snow,  and 
but  few  of  the  mosses  are  at  all  injuriously  affected  by 
the  action  of  frost.  By  this  power  of  living  and  grow 
ing  in  winter,  they  are  fitted  to  act  as  a  protection  to 


212  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

other  plants  from  the  vicissitudes  of  winter  weather, 
and  by  their  close  texture  they  prevent  the  washing 
away  of  the  soil  from  the  declivities  into  the  valleys. 
They  answer  the  double  purpose  of  catching  the  float 
ing  particles  of  dust  and  retaining  them  about  their 
roots,  and  of  preventing  any  waste  from  the  places 
they  occupy.  Finding  in  them  the  same  protection 
which  is  afforded  by  the  snow,  or  by  the  matting  of 
straw  provided  by  the  gardener,  there  are  many  plants 
that  vegetate  under  their  surface,  secure  from  the 
alternate  action  of  freezing  and  thawing  in  winter,  and 
of  drought  in  summer.  Hence  certain  flowers  blossom 
more  luxuriantly  in  a  bed  of  mosses  than  in  the  unoc 
cupied  soil. 

The  mosses  are  seldom  found  in  cultivated  lands. 
As  they  grow  entirely  on  the  shallow  surface,  the  labors 
of  the  tiller  of  the  soil  are  fatal  to  them.  They  delight 
in  old  woods,  in  moist  barren  pastures,  in  solitary  moor 
lands,  and  in  all  unfrequented  places.  In  those  situa 
tions  they  remain  fresh  and  beautiful,  while  they  pre 
pare  for  the  higher  vegetable  tribes  many  a  barren  spot, 
that  must  otherwise  remain  for  ever  without  its  plant. 
They  are  therefore  the  pioneers  of  vegetable  life ;  and 
nature,  when  she  selects  an  uncongenial  tract  to  be 
made  productive  of  fruits  or  flowers,  covers  the  surface 
with  a  close  verdure  of  moss,  and  variegates  it  with 
lichens,  before  she  strews  the  seeds  of  the  higher  plants 
to  vegetate  among  their  roots.  The  wise  husbandman, 
who,  by  a  careful  rotation  of  crops,  causes  his  land  to 
be  constantly  productive,  is  but  an  humble  imitator  of 
nature's  great  principle  of  action. 

The  mosses  have  never  been  made  objects  of  exten 
sive  cultivation  by  our  florists.  Every  rambler  in  the 
wild  wood  knows  their  value  and  their  beauty,  which 


THE   FLOWERLESS   PLANTS.  213 

seem  to  have  been  overlooked  by  the  cultivator.  They 
undoubtedly  possess  qualities  that  might  be  rendered 
valuable  for  purposes  of  artificial  embellishment.  There 
is  no  tree  with  foliage  of  so  perfect  a  green  tint  as  that 
of  the  moss  which  covers  the  roofs  of  very  old  build 
ings.  The  mossy  knolls  in  damp  woods  are  peculiarly 
attractive  on  account  of  their  verdure,  and  the  fine 
velvety  softness  of  their  pleasantly  rounded  surface. 
Though  the  mosses  produce  no  flowers,  the  little  germs 
that  grow  on  the  extremities  of  their  hair-like  stems  are 
perfect  jewels.  With  them,  however,  it  is  the  stem  that 
exhibits  the  most  beauty  of  hues,  varying  from  a  deep 
yellow  to  a  clear  and  lively  claret  or  crimson,  while  the 
termination  is  green  or  brown.  I  have  nothing  to  say 
of  the  physiology  of  their  propagation.  I  treat  of 
mosses  only  as  they  are  beautiful  objects  of  sight,  and 
useful  agents  in  unfolding  and  distributing  the  bounties 
of  nature.  This  tribe  furnishes  no  sustenance  to  man 
or  to  any  other  animal.  Those  eatable  plants  which 
are  called  by  the  name  of  mosses  are  either  lichens  or 
sea-weeds.  Nature,  who,  with  a  provident  hand,  renders 
many  of  her  productions  capable  of  supplying  a  mani 
fold  purpose  in  her  economy,  has  limited  the  agency  of 
the  mosses  to  a  few  simple  and  beautiful  services. 
They  perform  under  her  invisible  guidance,  for  the  field 
and  the  forest,  what  is  done  by  the  painter  and  the 
embosser  for  the  works  of  the  builder  of  temples  and 
palaces. 

The  ferns  have  fewer  picturesque  attractions  than  the 
mosses ;  but  like  the  latter,  they  are  allied  with  the 
primitive  wilds  of  nature,  with  gloomy  swamps,  which 
they  clothe  with  verdure,  and  with  rocky  precipices,  on 
whose  shelvy  sides  they  are  distributed  like  the  tiles  on 
a  roof  of  a  house.  They  resemble  mosses  in  their  dis- 


214  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

similarity  to  common  vegetable  forms  ;  and  their  broad 
wing-like  leaves  or  fronds  are  the  conspicuous  orna 
ments  of  wet  woods  and  solitary  pastures  which  are 
unvisited  by  the  plough.  By  their  singular  appearance 
we  are  reminded  of  the  primitive  forms  of  vegetation 
on  the  earth's  surface,  and  of  the  luxuriant  productions 
of  the  tropics.  In  places  where  they  are  abundant,  the 
hellebore,  with  its  erect  stem  and  prim  foliage,  towers 
above  the  low  shrubbery,  and  the  purple  sarracenia  rears 
its  nodding  flowers,  like  some  strange  visitant  from  an 
other  clime. 

The  ferns  are  for  the  most  part  a  coarse  tribe  of 
plants,  having  more  beauty  in  their  forms  than  in  their 
texture.  In  temperate  latitudes  it  is  only  their  leaf  or 
frond  that  is  conspicuous,  their  stems  being  either  pros 
trate  or  subterranean.  Yet  in  some  of  the  species 
nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than  the  ramifications 
of  their  fronds.  In  their  arrangements  we  may  observe 
a  perfect  harmony  and  regularity,  without  the  formality 
that  marks  the  compound  leaves  of  other  plants. 
Herein  nature  affords  an  example  of  a  compound 
assemblage  of  parts,  in  a  pleasing  uniformity  that  far 
exceeds  the  most  ingenious  devices  of  art.  Apparently 
similar  arrangements  are  seen"  in  the  leaves  of  the 
poison  hemlock,  the  milfoil,  and  the  Roman  worm 
wood  ;  but  their  formality  is  not  so  beautifully  blended 
with  variety  as  that  of  the  compound-leaved  ferns. 

In  tropical  countries  some  of  the  ferns  are  woody 
plants,  attaining  the  size  of  trees,  rising  with  a  branch 
less  trunk  over  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  then  spreading 
out  their  leaves  like  a  palm  tree.  Hence  they  are  singu 
larly  attractive  objects  to  the  traveller  from  the  north, 
by  the  sight  of  which  he  seems  to  be  carried  back  to 
the  early  ages  of  the  world,  before  the  human  race  had 


THE  FLOWERLESS  PLANTS.  215 

a  foothold  upon  the  earth.  Here  we  know  them  only 
as  an  inferior  tribe  in  relation  to  size,  the  tallest  seldom 
exceeding  two  or  three  feet  in  height.  Every  thing  in 
their  appearance  is  singular,  from  the  time  when  they 
first  push  up  their  purple  and  yellow  scrolls  above  the 
surface  of  the  soil,  covered  with  a  sort  of  downy  plum 
age,  to  the  time  when  their  leaves  are  spread  out  like 
an  eagle's  wings,  and  their  long  spikes  of  russet  flowers, 
if  they  may  be  so  called,  stand  erect  above  the  weeds 
and  grasses,  forming  a  beautiful  contrast  with  the  pure 
summer  greenness  of  all  other  vegetation. 

There  are  few  plants  that  exceed  in  beauty  and  deli 
cacy  of  structure  the  common  maiden-hair.  The  main 
stem  is  of  a  glossy  jet,  and  divided  into  two  principal 
branches,  that  produce  in  their  turn  several  other 
branches  from  their  upper  side,  resembling  a  compound 
pinnate  leaf  without  its  formality.  In  woods  in  the 
western  part  of  this  State  is  a  remarkable  fern  called  the 
walking  leaf.  It  derives  its  name  from  a  singular  habit 
of  striking  root  at  the  extremities  of  the  fronds,  giving 
origin  to  new  plants,  and  travelling  along  in  this  man 
ner  from  one  point  to  another.  There  is  only  one 
climbing  fern  among  our  native  plants.  Equally  beau 
tiful  and  rare,  it  is  found  only  in  a  few  localities  all  the 
way  from  Massachusetts  to  the  West  Indies.  Unlike 
other  ferns  in  its  twining  habit,  it  has  also  palmate 
leaves,  with  five  lobes,  and  bears  its  fruit  in  a  panicle, 
like  the  osmunda.  But  we  need  not  search  out  the  rare 
ferns  for  specimens  of  elegance  or  beauty.  The  com 
mon  polypody,  with  its  minutely  divided  leaves,  covers 
the  sides  of  steep  woody  hills  and  rocky  precipices,  and 
adds  a  beautiful  evergreen  verdure  to  their  barren 
slopes,  otherwise  destitute  of  attractions.  The  ferns 
and  the  mosses  are  peculiarly  the  ornaments  of  waste 


216  STUDIES   IN  THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

and  desert  places,  clothing  with  verdure  barren  plains 
and  rough  declivities. 

I  have  always  attached  a  romantic  interest  to  the  sea 
weeds,  (Algae,)  whose  forms  remind  one  of  the  haunts 
of  the  Nereids,  of  the  mysterious  chambers  of  the 
ocean,  and  of  all  that  is  interesting  among  the  deep 
inlets  of  the  sea.  Though  flowerless,  they  are  unsur 
passed  in  the  delicate  arrangements  of  their  branches, 
and  the  variety  of  colors  they  display.  We  see  them 
only  when  broken  off  from  the  rocks  on  which  they 
grew,  and  washed  upon  the  shore,  where  they  lie,  after 
a  storm,  like  flowers  scattered  upon  the  greensward  by 
the  scythe  of  the  mower.  When  branching  out  in  the 
perfection  of  their  forms,  underneath  the  clear  briny 
tide,  they  are  unsurpassed  by  few  plants  in  elegance. 
The  artist  has  taken  advantage  of  their  peculiar  branch 
ing  forms,  and  their  delicate  hues,  and  weaves  them  into 
chaplets  of  the  most  beautiful  designs. 

The  sea-weeds  seem  to  be  allied  to  the  lichens,  and 
are  considered  by  some  botanists  as  the  same  plants 
modified  by  growing  under  water,  and  tinted  by  the 
iodine  and  bromine  which  they  imbibe  from  the  sea. 

The  lichens  are  the  lowest  tribe  in  the  scale  of  vege 
tation.  They  make  their  appearance  on  naked  rocks, 
and  clothe  them  with  a  sort  of  fringe,  holding  fast  on 
the  rock  for  security,  and  deriving  their  chief  sustenance 
from  the  atmosphere  and  the  particles  of  dust  wafted 
on  the  winds  and  lodged  at  their  roots.  They  have 
properly,  however,  no  roots,  neither  have  they  leaves  or 
stem;  yet  they  are  almost  infinitely  varied  in  their 
forms,  hues,  and  ramifications.  They  grow  in  all  places 
which  are  exposed  to  air  and  moisture,  on  the  surface 
of  rocks,  old  walls,  fences,  posts,  and  the  branches  of 
trees.  Some  of  the  species  are  foliaceous,  resembling 


THE   FLOWEKLESS   PLANTS.  217 

leaves  without  branches,  and  without  any  distinct  or 
regular  outlines,  and  found  mostly  on  rocks.  Others 
are  erect  and  ramified  like  trees  and  shrubs,  but  without 
any  thing  that  represents  foliage.  Such  is  that  com 
mon  grey  lichen  (Cenomyce)  that  covers  our  barren 
hills,  which  is  a  perfect  hygrometer,  crumbling  under 
the  feet  in  dry  weather,  and  yielding  to  the  step  like 
velvet,  whenever  the  air  contains  moisture.  In  similar 
places,  and  growing  along  with  it,  is  found  one  of  the- 
hepatic  mosses,  that  produces  those  little  tubercles  —  the 
fructification  of  the  plant  —  resembling  dots  of  sealing- 
wax,  and  eagerly  sought  by  artists  who  manufacture- 
designs  in  moss.  But  the  most  beautiful  lichens  are 
those  which  are  pendant  from  the  branches  of  trees, 
(Usnea,)  consisting  of  branching  threads,  of  an  ash- 
green  color,  and  bearing  little  circular  shields  at  their 
extremities.  These  lichens  give  character  to  moist 
woods  and  low  cedar  swamps,  where  they  hang  like 
funereal  drapery  from  the  boughs  and  deepen  the  gloom 
of  their  solitudes. 

Lichens,  though  inhabiting  all  parts  of  the  earth,  are 
particularly  luxuriant  in  cold  climates,  thriving  in  ex 
treme  polar  latitudes,  where  not  another  plant  can  live- 
Nature  seems  to  have  designed  them  as  an  instrument 
for  preparing  every  barren  spot  with  the  means  of  sus 
taining  the  '  more  valuable  plants.  Not  only  do  they 
cause  a  gradual  accumulation  of  soil  by  their  decay,, 
but  they  actually  feed  upon  the  rocks  by  means  of 
oxalic  acid  that  exudes  from  their  substance.  By  this 
process  the  surface  of  the  solid  rock  is  changed  into  a 
soil  fitted  for  the  nutrition  of  plants.  After  the  lichens 
have  perished,  the  mosses  and  ferns  take  root  in  the  soil 
that  is  furnished  by  their  decay.  One  vegetable  tribe 
after  another  grows  to  perfection  and  perishes,  but  to 

19 


218  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

give  place  to  its  more  noble  successor,  until  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  soil  is  accumulated  for  the  growth  of  a 
forest  of  trees.  In  such  order  may  the  whole  earth 
have  been  gradually  covered  with  plants,  by  the  perish 
ing  of  one  tribe  after  another,  leaving  its  substance  for 
the  support  of  a  superior  tribe,  until  the  work  of  crea 
tion  is  completed. 

Among  the  grotesque  productions  of  nature,  the 
fung-ij  or  mushroom  tribe,  ought  undoubtedly  to  be 
named  as  the  most  remarkable,  attaining  the  whole  of 
their  growth  in  the  space  of  a  few  days,  and  sometimes 
of  a  few  hours.  They  are  simple  in  their  parts,  like 
what  may  be  supposed  to  have  been  the  earliest  pro 
ductions  of  nature.  They  have  no  leaves,  or  flowers, 
or  branches.  They  will  grow  and  continue  in  health 
without  light,  requiring  nothing  but  air  and  moisture 
above  their  roots.  Though  so  low  in  the  scale  of  vege 
tation,  1hey  are  not  without  elegance  of  forms  and 
beauty  of  colors,  and  are  remembered  in  connection 
with  dark  pine  woods,  where,  forming  a  sort  of  com 
panionship  with  the  monotropas,  they  are  particularly 
luxuriant.  Neither  are  they  deficient  in  poetical  inter 
est,  as  these  plants  are  the  cause  of  those  fairy  rings 
that  attract  attention  by  their  mysterious  growth  in 
circles,  on  the  greensward  in  the  pastures. 

The  mushrooms  vary  extremely  in  their  forms  and 
sizes.  Some  are  as  slender  as  the  finest  mosses,  tinted 
with  gold  and  scarlet,  and  almost  transparent.  Others 
resemble  a  parasol,  with  their  upper  surface  of  a  bril 
liant  straw-color,  dotted  with  purple,  and  their  under 
surface  of  rose  or  lilac.  They  seem  to  riot  in  all  sorts 
of  beautiful  and  peculiar  shapes  and  combinations. 
But  the  greater  number  are  remarkable  only  for  their 
grotesque  forms,  as  if  intended  as  a  burlesque  upon  the 


THE  FLOWERLESS  PLANTS.  219 

other  productions  of  the  earth.  Almost  every  tree, 
after  its  decay,  gives  origin  to  a  particular  species  of 
mushroom.  They  are  often  seen  as  small  as  pins,  with 
little  heads  resembling  red  and  yellow  beads,  growing 
like  a  forest  under  the  moist  protection  of  some  broad- 
leaved  shrubbery.  Over  the  surface  of  all  accumula 
tions  of  decayed  vegetable  matter  they  are  seen  spread 
ing  out  their  umbrellas  and  lifting  up  their  heads,  often 
springing  up  suddenly,  as  if  by  enchantment.  But 
they  are  short-lived,  and  soon  perish  if  the  light  of  the 
sun  is  admitted  into  their  shady  haunts. 

Thus  far  have  I  endeavored  to  call  attention  to  the 
flowerless  plants,  not  designing  to  treat  of  them  in  a 
scientific  manner.  I  have  said  nothing,  therefore,  of  the 
Characeae  and  the  Equisetums,  lest  I  make  useless  repe 
titions  of  remarks  which  are  necessarily  of  a  general 
character.  Whoever  will  take  pains  to  examine  these 
plants  will  discover  an  inexhaustible  variety  in  their 
forms,  their  modes  of  growth,  and  their  fructification. 
Hence  those  botanists  who  hdve  given  particular  atten 
tion  to  this  class  of  plants  have  been  noted  for  the 
enthusiasm  with  which  they  pursued  their  researches. 
I  have  never  been  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  their 
life,  growth,  and  continuance.  I  treat  of  them  only 
as  they  serve  to  add  beauty  to  a  little  nook  in  the 
garden,  to  a  dripping  rock,  or  to  a  solitary  dell  in 
the  wild  wood.  The  more  we  study  them,  the 
more  are  we  charmed  with  their  singularity  and  ele 
gance. 

Thus,  over  all  her  productions  has  nature  spread  the 
charms  of  beautiful  forms  and  tints,  from  the  humblest 
mushroom  that  grows  upon  the  decayed  stump  of  a 
tree,  or  the  lichen  that  hangs  in  drapery  from  its  living 
branches,  to  the  lofty  tree  itself  that  rears  its  head 


220  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

among  the  clouds.  It  is  not  in  all  cases  those  objects 
which  are  most  attractive  to  a  superficial  observation, 
that  furnish  the  most  delight  to  a  scrutinizing  mind. 
The  greatest  beauties  of  nature  are  hidden  from  vulgar 
sight,  as  if  purposely  reserved  to  reward  the  efforts  of 
those  who,  with  minds  devoted  to  truth,  pursue  their 
researches  in  the  great  temple  of  science. 


XXVIII. 

SEPTEMBER. 


WE  have  hardly  become  familiar  with  summer  ere 
autumn  has  arrived,  with  its  cool  nights,  its  foggy 
mornings,  and  its  clear  halcyon  days.  Yet  the  close  of 
summer  is  but  the  commencement  of  a  variety  of 
pleasant  rural  occupations,  of  reaping  and  fruit  gath 
ering,  and  the  still  more  exciting  sports  of  the  field. 
After  this  time  we  are  comparatively  exempt  from  the 
extremes  of  temperature,  and  are  free  to  ramble  at  any 
distance,  without  exposure  to  the  sudden  showers,  that 
so  often  spring  up  in  summer,  without  warning  us  of 
their  approach.  Though  the  spicy  odors  of  June  are 
no  longer  wafted  upon  the  gales,  yet  there  is  a  clearness 
and  a  freshness  in  the  atmosphere,  more  agreeable  than 
fragrance,  affording  buoyancy  to  the  mind  and  elas 
ticity  to  the  frame. 

The  various  employments  of  the  farmer  are  changed 
into  agreeable  recreations ;  and  the  anxious  toils  of 
planting  and  haymaking  have  given  place  to  the  less 
wearisome  and  more  exhilarating  labors  of  the  harvest. 
Besides  the  pleasures  of  the  sportsman,  there  are  succes 
sions  of  fruit-gatherings,  and  rural  excursions  of  vari 
ous  kinds,  from  the  beginning  of  this  month  to  the  end 
of  the  next,  that  impart  to  the  young  many  cheerful 

19* 


222  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

themes  of  remembrance  for  all  the  rest  of  their  lives. 
The  provident  simpler  may  be  seen  upon  the  hills, 
busily  employed  in  gathering  medicinal  plants  for  her 
own  humble  dispensary.  Close  by  her  side  are  neatly 
bound  sheaves  of  thoroughwort,  hardback,  thousand-root, 
St.  John's  wort,  pennyroyal,  and  lifeeverlasting,  which 
she  is  benevolently  providing  for  the  supply  of  her 
neighborhood.  And  while  thus  employed  she  feels  the 
reward  of  the  just,  in  the  pleasing  contemplation  of  the 
good  she  may  perform,  when  winter  comes  with  its 
fevers  and  colds. 

There  is  no  season  of  the  year  when  the  landscape 
presents  so  beautiful  an  appearance,  just  before  sunset, 
as  during  this  month.  The  grass  has  a  peculiar  vel 
vety  greenness,  being  without  any  mixture  of  downy 
tassels  and  panicles  of  seeds ;  for  the  present  covering 
of  the  fields  is  mostly  the  second  growth  of  vegetation, 
after  the  first  had  been  mowed  by  the  husbandman  or 
cropped  by  the  grazing  herds.  The  herbage  exhibits 
little  but  the  leaf,  which  has  been  thickened  in  its 
growth  and  made  green  by  the  rains  of  early  autumn. 
When  the  atmosphere  has  its  usual  autumnal  clearness, 
and  the  sun  is  just  declining,  while  his  rays  gleam  hori 
zontally  over  the  fields,  the  plain  exhibits  a  most  bril 
liant  verdure,  unlike  that  of  any  of  the  earlier  months. 
When  this  wide  landscape  of  uniform  greenness  is 
viewed  in  connection  with  the  blue  firmament  that  is 
spread  over  our  heads,  it  seems  as  if  the  earth  and  the 
sky  were  vying  with'  one  another,  in  the  untarnished 
loveliness  of  their  appropriate  colors. 

There  is  usually  a  still  serenity  during  September, 
almost  unknown  to  any  former  part  of  the  year ;  and 
all  the  elements  seem  to  be  restored  to  harmony.  Yet 
this  is  no  season  for  inaction ;  for  the  temperate 


SEPTEMBER.  223 

weather,  too  pleasant  for  confinement,  and  too  cool  for 
indolent  repose,  invites  even  the  weary  to  ramble.  If 
the  early  autumn  in  our  climate  be  unhealthy,  it  is 
owing  to  no  insalubrity  of  the  atmosphere,  to  no  pes 
tilence  borne  upon  the  clear  autumnal  breezes,  but  to 
the  folly  and  improvidence  of  man,  who  revels  without 
restraint  in  the  unbounded  luxuries  now  placed  before 
him.  Of  all  the  months  the  climate  of  September  is 
the  most  equable  and  salubrious ;  and  nearly  the  same 
temperature  is  wafted  from  every  quarter  of  the  heav 
ens.  The  sea-breezes  spring  up  from  the  ocean, 
almost  with  the  mildness  of  the  balmy  south-west,  and 
the  rude  north  wind  has  been  softened  into  a  delightful 
blandness  by  his  tender  dalliance  with  summer. 

The  principal  landscape  beauty  of  the  present  month 
consists  of  the  profusion  of  bright-colored  fruits  that 
meet  the  eye  on  every  side,  in  the  now  deserted  haunts 
of  the  flowers.  The  scarlet  berries  of  the  nightshade, 
occasionally  varied  with  blossoms,  are  hanging  like  clus 
ters  of  the  purest  gems,  from  the  crevices  in  the  stone 
walls,  through  which  the  vines  have  made  their  clam 
bering  tour.  In  wet  places  the  calla  and  the  dragon-root 
display  their  compact  bunches  of  red  fruit,  side  by  side 
with  the  spotted  berries  of  the  Solomon's-seal.  On 
each  side  of  the  walls,  the  elder-trees  in  interrupted 
rows,  are  bending  down  with  the  weight  of  their  dark 
/  purple  fruit,  while  here  and  there  the  loftier  viburnums 
stand  firmly  by  their  side,  some  species  exhibiting  their 
slate-colored  berries  upon  erect  stems,  others  hanging 
them  from  the  extremities  of  their  branches,  like  pendu 
lous  clusters  of  grapes.  The  dark  berries  of  the  privet, 
in  conical  bunches,  are  scattered  among  its  prim 
branches  and  myrtle-like  foliage,  and  the  berries  of  the 
wild  rose  are  beginning  to  redden,  along  with  the  daily 


224  STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD  AND   FOREST. 

brightening  tints  of  the  surrounding  shrubbery.  Above 
all,  the  barberry-bushes,  scattered  over  the  hills,  some  in 
irregular  patches,  others  following  the  lines  of  the  stone 
walls,  meet  the  eye,  with  their  long  slender  branches 
fringed  with  delicate  racemes  of  variegated  fruit,  chang 
ing  from  vermilion  to  a  bright  scarlet,  and  forming 
hedge-rows  and  coppices  of  the  most  dazzling  beauty. 

Yet  all  these  are  nothing  in  comparison  with  the 
splendor  and  variety  of  the  orchard  fruits.  September 
is  the  counterpart  of  June,  and  exhibits  the  transfor 
mation  of  the  flowers  of  early  summer,  into  the  ripe 
and  ruddy  harvest.  The  wild  cherry-trees  are  heavily 
laden  with  their  dark  purple  clusters,  and  flocks  of 
robins  and  waxwings  are  busy,  all  the  day,  in  their 
merry  plunder  among  the  branches.  The  fences  are 
overshadowed  with  fruit-trees  of  many  species,  present 
ing  a  spectacle  more  showy  than  their  flowery  magnifi 
cence  in  early  June.  But  in  the  fruits  there  is  some 
thing  less  lovely  than  in  the  flowers,  to  which  imagina 
tion  always  assigns  some  moral  attributes.  The  various 
fruits  of  the  harvest  we  prize,  as  good  and  bounteous 
gifts ;  but  flowers  win  our  affections,  like  beings  en 
dowed  with  life  and  thought ;  and  when  we  note  their 
absence  or  their  departure,  we  feel  a  painful  sense  of 
melancholy,  as  when  we  have  bid  adieu  to  living 
friends.  With  flowers  we  associate  the  sweetness,  the 
loveliness,  and  dear  and  bright  remembrances  of  spring ; 
like  human  beings,  they  have  contributed  to  our  intel 
lectual  enjoyments.  But  there  are  no  such  moral 
associations  connected  with  the  fruits ;  and  while  the 
orchards  are  resplendent  with  their  luxuriant  beauty, 
they  can  never  affect  the  rnind  like  the  sight  of  the 
flowers. 

Though  autumn  is  properly  the  season  of  fruits,  Sep- 


SEPTEMBER.  225 

tember  comes  to  us  crowned  with  a  new  world  of  veg 
etation  unwitnessed  in  the  joyous  summer  time.  The 
flowers  of  this  month  have  little  of  the  delicacy  of  the 
earlier  tribes,  yet  in  glowing  tints  and  luxuriance  of 
growth,  they  far  surpass  any  that  have  preceded  them. 
The  golden-rods  that  began  to  be  conspicuous  about 
the  middle  of  August,  have  multiplied  until  the  fences 
exhibit  almost  interminable  hedge-rows  of  yellow  nod 
ding  plumes.  Millions  of  asters  of  an  endless  variety 
of  sizes,  arrangements,  and  colors,  have  arisen  in  every 
soil  and  situation,  some  of  a  pure  whiteness,  some  pur 
ple,  others  of  a  dark  blue,  and  fringed  with  petals,  as 
fine  as  the  rays  that  sparkle  about  a  midnight  taper. 
In  the  borders  of  the  woods,  and  in  the  meadows  which 
have  been  vacated  by  the  purple  orchis  and  the  pale 
arethusa,  several  species  of  gerardia,  or  American  fox 
glove,  hang  their  golden  blossoms,  like  so  many  lamps 
within  the  gloom  of  their  shady  retreats. 

Wherever  the  scythe  of  the  mower  has  not  cut  down 
the  flowers,  the  trumpet-weed  and  the  yellow  balsamine 
grow  more  thriftily  than  ever,  and  the  fragrant  spikes  of 
the  clethra  have  not  entirely  faded  in  the  coppice.  All 
over  the  hills  and  along  the  green  road  sides,  the  flowers 
of  the  autumnal  hawk-weed,  like  the  dandelions,  their 
vernal  sisters,  are  gleaming  in  golden  profusion ;  and 
the  white  odorous  everlastings,  are  everywhere  pouring 
out  their  delicate  and  peculiar  incense.  Multitudes  of 
thistles,  of  various  forms  and  sizes,  exhibit  their  bright 
globes  of  pink,  white,  and  purple  blossoms,  and  little 
goldfinches  are  hopping  and  twittering  among  their 
downy  and  ripened  heads.  The  evening  primroses 
are  still  brilliant  after  sunset,  and  in  the  later  afternoon, 
and  the  hyssop  spangles  the  brook  sides  with  its  yellow 
cups,  blended  with  the  delicate  flowers  of  the  purple 


226  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

gerardia.  But  the  glory  of  the  meadows,  during  this 
season,  is  the  golden  coreopsis,  that  rivals  all  other 
plants  by  its  superior  gayety  and  brilliancy.  Finally,  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  month,  when  a  greater  part  of  the 
floral  beauties  of  the  season  have  faded,  comes  forth 
the  blue-fringed  gentian,  having  such  extreme  delicacy, 
as  to  make  one  almost  fancy,  that  the  bosom  of  May 
had  been  plundered  of  one  of  her  proper  ornaments,  to 
deck  the  hoary  brows  of  autumn. 

The  birds  are  almost  silent;  now  and  then  we  hear 
one  piping  a  few  broken  strains ;  but  he  does  not  seem 
to  be  pleased  with  his  own  song,  and  no  one  answers 
him  from  his  feathered  comrades.  Their  season  of 
departure  is  near,  and  numerous  cares  distract  the  tune 
ful  band.  The  swallows  are  now  no  longer  seen  to 
skim  with  twittering  flight  along  the  surface  of  the 
waters ;  or  sailing  aloft  in  the  air,  to  forewarn  the 
swain  of  coming  showers.  The  little  busy  wren,  one 
of  our  latest  warblers,  is  also  silent,  and  all  are  slowly 
leaving  us  one  after  another.  It  is  a  pleasant  occupa 
tion  to  watch  their  various  movements,  their  altered 
manners,  and  their  unwonted  shyness.  They  sing  no 
more ;  but  twitter,  cherup,  and  complain,  always  in 
restless  motion,  flying  from  tree  to  tree,  like  those  pre 
paring  for  a  long  journey. 

But  as  the  birds  have  become  silent,  the  insect 
myriads,  having  attained  the  full  maturity  of  their 
lives,  are  in  glad  chorus  with  all  their  little  harps.  The 
fields  are  covered  with  crickets  and  grasshoppers,  and 
the  whole  air  resounds  with  their  hissing  melodies. 
This  is  the  honeymoon  of  their  transient  lifetime,  and 
they  are  merrily  singing  their  conjugal  ditties,  while  the 
autumnal  frosts  are  rapidly  approaching,  to  put  an 
end  to  their  pleasures  and  to  their  lives.  While  chirp- 


SEPTEMBEK.  227 

ing  night  and  day,  among  the  green  herbage,  they  are 
but  chanting  the  death-notes  of  their  own  brief  exist 
ence.  The  little  merry  multitude,  to  whose  myriad 
voices  we  are  now  listening  with  delight,  contains  per 
haps,  not  one  individual  of  those  who  were  chirping  in 
their  places  a  year  ago.  All  that  generation  has  passed 
away,  and  ere  another  spring  arrives,  the  present  mul 
titudinous  choir  will  have  perished  likewise,  to  yield 
their  places  to  a  new  million,  which  the  next  summer 
will  usher  into  life.  But  they  take  no  thought  of  the 
morrow,  and  like  true  epicureans,  while  the  frosts  are 
gathering  around  them,  they  sing  and  make  merry, 
until  the  cold  drives  them  into  their  retreats.  One 
tribe  after  another  discontinues  its  song,  until  the  hard 
frosts  commence,  and  leave  the  woods  lonely  and 
silent,  but  for  the  screaming  of  jays,  the  cawing  of 
ravens,  and  the  moaning  of  winds,  as  they  pass  over 
the  melancholy  graves  of  the  departed  things  of  sum 
mer. 


XXIX. 

MUSIC    OF    INSECTS. 


ABOUT  midsummer,  the  majority  of  the  singing  birds 
have  become  silent;  but  as  one  voice  after  another 
drops  away,  new  hosts  of  musicians  of  a  different  char 
acter  take  up  the  chorus,  and  their  spinning  melodies 
are  suggestive  of  the  early  and  later  harvest,  as  the 
voices  of  the  birds  are  associated  with  seed-time  and 
the  season  of  flowers.  In  our  climate  the  voices  of  no 
species  of  insects  are  very  loud  ;  but  when  their  vast 
multitudes  are  united  in  chorus,  they  may  often  be 
heard  above  the  din  and  clatter  of  a  busy  town.  Na 
ture  is  exhaustless  in  the  means  by  which  she  may 
effect  the  same  end ;  and  birds,  insects,  and  reptiles  are 
each  provided  with  different  but  equally  effective  instru 
ments  for  producing  sounds.  While  birds  and  quadru 
peds  produce  them  by  means  of  a  pipe  connecting  with 
their  lungs,  the  frogs  are  provided  with  a  sort  of  bag 
pipe,  and  the  insects  represent,  in  their  respective 
species,  the  harpist,  the  violinist,  and  the  drummer. 

Thus  there  are  several  species  that  make  sounds  by 
the  vibration  of  a  membrane  attached  to  their  sides  or 
to  the  shoulders  of  their  wings.  Such  are  most  of  the 
crickets  and  grasshoppers.  Others  of  the  same  tribes 


MUSIC   OF   INSECTS.  229 

rub  their  legs  against  a  vibrating  appendage  connected 
with  their  sides,  in  humble  imitation  of  violin  players ; 
lastly,  the  drumming  insects,  like  the  woodticks,  are 
provided  with  a  little  hammer,  which  they  strike  against 
the  ceiling  that  forms  their  retreat.  It  seems  to  me 
that  no  man  can  be  indifferent  to  the  sounds  and  music 
of  insects.  Even  the  buzzing  of  flies  about  one's  cham 
ber  or  sitting-room,  has  a  soothing  and  tranquillizing 
influence  ;  and  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  those  circum 
stances  provided  by  nature  to  relieve  the  world  of  that 
dead  silence,  which  would  otherwise  render  this  earth  a 
dreary  and  melancholy  abode.  We  are  so  formed,  that 
every  sound  in  nature,  except  her  notes  of  alarm,  by 
habit  becomes  pleasing  and  assimilated  to  music ;  and 
in  the  silence  of  winter,  the  increased  delight  afforded 
us  by  every  remaining  sound,  is  an  evidence  of  this 
truth.  The  tiny  hammering  of  the  woodtick  in  the- 
ceiling,  the  buzzing  of  flies,  and,  above  all,  the  chirping 
of  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, .are  among  the  poetical 
sounds  that  are  associated  with  winter  days  at  home,, 
as  the  voices  of  the  raven,  the  jay,  and  the  woodpecker 
are  suggestive  of  winter  in  the  woods. 

The  fly,  the  gnat,  the  beetle,  and  the  moth,  though 
each  utters  a  sound  that  awakens  many  pleasing 
thoughts  and  images,  are  not  to  be  ranked  among  sing 
ing  insects.  The  latter  comprehend  the  locusts,  the- 
crickets,  and  the  grasshoppers,  that  seem  appointed  by 
nature  to  take  up  their  little  lyre  and  drum,  after  the- 
birds  have  laid  aside  their  more  musical  pipe  and  flute.. 
Though  certain  insects  are  supposed  to  make  their 
sounds  by  means  of  wind,  their  apparatus  is  placed: 
outside  of  their  bodies,  and  as  they  have  no  lungs,  the 
air  is  obtained  by  a  peculiar  inflation  of  their  chests. 
Hence  the  musical  appendages  of  such  insects  are  con- 

20 


230  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

structed  on  the  principle  of  the  jewsharp,  and  of  the 
reeds  in  a  reed-organ.  The  grasshopper,  in  all  ages,  has 
been  noted  for  his  musical  propensities ;  and  is  fre 
quently  represented  as  playing  on  the  harp,  in  certain 
ancient  emblematical  vignettes. 

Each  genus  of  these  insects  has  a  peculiar  modula 
tion  of  his  notes.  The  common  green  grasshopper, 
that  during  the  months  of  August  and  September  fills 
the  whole  atmosphere  with  his  din,  is  found  chiefly  in 
the  lowland  meadows  which  are  covered  with  the  native 
grasses.  This  grasshopper  modulates  his  notes  some 
what  like  the  cackling  of  a  hen,  uttering  several  chirps 
in  rapid  succession,  and  following  them  with  a  loud 
spinning  sound,  that  seems  to  be  the  conclusion  of  the 
strain.  His  strains  are  continued  incessantly,  from  the 
time  when  the  sun  is  up  high  enough  to  dry  the  dews, 
until  dewfall  in  the  evening.  These  players  are 
delighted  with  the  clear  bright  sunshine,  and  sing  but 
very  little  on  cloudy  days,  even  when  the  air  is  dry  and 
warm. 

There  is  another  species  of  grasshopper  with  short 
wings,  that  makes  a  kind  of  grating  sound,  by  scraping 
his  legs,  that  serve  for  bows,  against  his  sides,  that  rep 
resent,  as  it  were,  the  strings  of  a  viol.  If  we  go  into 
the  whortleberry  pastures,  we  may  hear  still  another 
species,  that  makes  a  continued  trilling,  like  the  note  of 
the  hairbird,  and  often  continues  the  sound  half  a 
minute  or  more,  without  apparent  rest.  This  insect  re 
minds  me  of  the  louder  shrilling  of  those  species  which 
are  heard  in  the  southern  States.  The  note  of  this 
grasshopper  is  not  so  agreeable  as  the  notes  of  those 
whose  strains  are  more  rapidly  intermittent. 

The  American  locusts  make  their  peculiar  sounds  by 
inflating  air  into  their  bodies,  and  expressing  it  between 


MUSIC    OF   INSECTS.  231 

two  small  apertures,  situated  a  little  below  the  base  of 
their  wings.  These  holes  lead  from  a  musical  table,  on 
each  side  of  which  are  five  or  six  thin  bars,  connected 
by  exquisitely  fine  membranes.  There  is  an  insect  of 
this  tribe  that  is  seldom  heard  until  midsummer,  and 
then  only  during  the  middle  of  the  warmest  days.  His 
note  is  a  pleasant  remembrancer  of  sultry  summer  noon 
days,  of  languishing  heat,  and  refreshing  shade.  It 
begins  low  and  increases  in  loudness,  until  it  is  almost 
deafening,  and  then  gradually  dies  away  into  silence. 
The  most  skilful  musician  could  not  perform  a  more 
delightful  crescendo  and  diminuendo.  It  has  a  peculiar 
vibratory  sound,  that  seems  to  me  highly  musical  and 
expressive.  The  insect  that  produces  this  note  is  a 
grotesque  looking  creature,  resembling  about  equally  a 
grasshopper  and  a  bumblebee. 

The  black  crickets  and  their  familiar  chirping  are 
well  known  to  everybody.  An  insect  of  this  tribe  is 
celebrated  in  English  romance  as  the  "  cricket  on  the 
hearth."  The  American  species  do  not  so  habitually 
frequent  our  dwelling-houses ;  but  they  are  all  around 
our  door  steps,  and  by  the  way-side,  under  every  dry 
fence  and  every  sandy  hill.  They  chirp  night  and  day, 
and  more  or  less  in  all  kinds  of  weather.  They  com 
mence  their  songs  many  weeks  before  the  grasshoppers, 
and  continue  them  to  a  later  period  in  the  autumn,  not 
ceasing  until  the  hard  frosts  have  driven  them  into  their 
retreats,  and  silenced  them  by  a  torpid  sleep. 

The  note  of  the  katydid,  which  is  a  drumming  sound, 
has  less  music  in  it  than  that  of  some  of  the  other 
insects  I  have  described.  In  our  literature  no  other 
species  has  become  so  widely  celebrated,  probably  on 
account  of  the  fancied  resemblance  of  his  notes  to  the 
word  katydid.  To  my  ear  an  assemblage  of  these  little 


232  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

musicians,  all  engaged  in  uttering  their  peculiar  note, 
seems  more  like  the  hammering  of  a  thousand  little 
smiths  in  some  busy  hamlet  of  insects.  There  is  noth 
ing  melodious  in  these  sounds,  and  they  are  accordingly 
less  suggestive  of  poetical  thoughts  than  those  of  the 
green  nocturnal  grasshopper,  that  is  heard  at  the  same 
hour  and  in  similar  situations. 

The  nocturnal  grasshoppers,  sometimes  called  August 
pipers,  commence  their  chirping  about  the  second  week 
in  August.  These  are  the  true  nightingales  of  insects, 
and  the  tribe  that  seems  to  me  most  worthy  of  being 
consecrated  to  poetry.  There  is  a  singular  plaintive- 
ness  in  their  low  and  monotonous  notes,  which  is  the 
charm  of  the  late  summer  and  early  autumnal  evenings; 
and  there  are  but  few  persons  who  are  not  affected,  by 
these  sounds,  with  a  remarkable  sensation  of  subdued 
but  cheerful  melancholy.  This  effect  does  not  seem  to 
be  the  result  of  association,  so  much  as  that  of  some 
peculiar  cadence  or  modulation  of  the  sound. 

The  notes  of  these  nocturnal  pipers  are  most  com 
monly  in  unison,  and  accurately  timed,  as  if  they  were 
singing  in  concert.  They  are  the  loudest  singers  of  our 
indigenous  insects,  and  it  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  they 
•always  vary  their  key-note,  according  to  the  temperature 
of  the  atmosphere,  within  certain  degrees.  They  are 
evidently  dependent  on  a  certain  amount  of  heat  for 
their  vivacity,  and  become  more  or  less  torpid,  as  the 
temperature  of  the  atmosphere  sinks  below  a  certain 
point.  Having  noticed  this  fact  at  different  times,  I 
was  induced  to  make  a  series  of  exact  observations  a 
few  years  since,  by  noticing  the  height  of  the  mercury 
in  Fahrenheit's  thermometer,  and  at  the  same  time  find 
ing  the  key  upon  which  these  insects  were  chirping. 
My  observations  were  commenced  early  in  August,  and 


MUSIC    OF   INSECTS.  233 

carried  through  September,  which  was  on  that  year  as 
hot  as  July.  The  following  is  a  general  statement  of 
the  results. 

When  the  temperature  of  the  weather  is  indicated  at 
80°  Fahrenheit,  these  insects  will  be  found  singing  in 
variably  as  high  as  the  key  of  F  natural.  When  the 
mercury  stands  at  75°,  they  sing  one  tone  lower  or 
thereabouts,  and  always  change  from  a  higher  to  a 
lower  key,  as  the  air  grows  colder,  and  the  contrary  as 
it  grows  warmer.  Their  notes  will  be  found  to  vary 
about  one  tone  with  every  five  degrees  of  change  in  the 
weather,  as  marked  by  the  thermometer.  I  will  add, 
that  I  have  never  heard  them  singing  on  a  higher  key  than 
F,  or  on  a  lower  key  than  G,  comprising  one  note  less 
than  an  octave  in  their  compass.  The  weather  is  sel 
dom  warmer  than  80°  in  the  evening,  and  when  it  is 
colder  than  60°,  the  insects  always  sing  out  of  tune  and 
time,  and  some  of  them  as  low  as  G.  A  colder  tem 
perature  than  this  diminishes  their  vivacity,  and  silences 
a  great  many  of  the  performers ;  but  after  they  have 
become  so  torpid  that  the  vibrations  of  their  wings 
would  produce  a  sound  lower  than  G,  they  become 
silent. 

It  may  be  further  remarked,  that  they  hasten  their 
time  just  in  proportion  as  they  raise  their  key,  and  that 
they  likewise  sing  both  in  better  time  and  better  tune, 
in  proportion  to  the  warmth  of  the  weather.  When 
the  mercury  stood  at  80°,  I  was  never  able  to  detect  a 
single  insect  performing  out  of  time  or  tune.  The 
whole  myriad  choir  were  singing  in  perfect  harmony.; 
their  key  being  about  F  natural,  and  their  time  about 
three  notes  to  a  second,  which  is  very  rapid.  During 
this  high  temperature,  the  shriller  toned  insects,  as  the 
diurnal  grasshoppers  and  the  black  crickets,  sing  in 

20* 


234  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

unison  with  the  August  pipers,  varying  their  tone  in 
the  same  manner  with  the  variations  of  temperature. 
But  the  diurnal  insects  do  not  keep  time  so  well  as 
those  which  are  the  particular  subject  of  my  observa 
tions. 

When  the  mercury  stands  at  about  70°,  a  few  insects 
may  be  heard  singing  out  of  tune.  Their  time  is  also 
more  imperfect,  and  is  equal  to  about  two  notes  to  a 
second.  When  the  weather  is  as  cold  as  60°  —  the 
average  temperature  of  the  evenings  in  August  and 
September  —  the  greater  number  will  be  heard  on  the 
key  of  B  flat.  Their  time,  however,  in  this  state  of  the 
weather,  is  very  imperfect,  and  a  great  many  will  be 
heard  singing  out  of  tune,  some  a  tone  or  a  semitone 
higher,  and  others  as  much  lower  than  B  flat.  I 
attribute  this  difference  to  the  different  degrees  of 
warmth  which  they  may  find,  according  as  they  are 
more  or  less  protected  from  the  external  air.  If  one, 
for  example,  be  confined  in  a  room  in  the  house,  when 
the  outer  air  is  cool,  the  one  confined  will  chirp  several 
notes  higher  than  any  that  are  singing  out  of  doors. 
When  the  temperature  is  very  warm,  there  is  probably 
more  uniformity  of  heat  in  all  places  and  situations, 
than  when  it  is  cooler.  Often,  on  a  sudden  change  of 
temperature  from  warm  to  cool,  some  individuals  that 
happen  to  be  in  a  little  snug  retreat  that  still  preserves 
the  early  heat  of  the  day,  will  sing  more  briskly  and  on 
a  higher  key  than  others.  When  the  weather  is  below 
60°,  all  the  insects  sing  very  feebly,  without  regard  to 
time  or  tune;  those  only  that  happen  to  be  protected 
under  the  warm  projection  of  a  roof,  or  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  chirping  on  a  higher  key  than  the  rest,  and  with 
more  vivacity. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  with  an  accurate  thermometer, 


MUSIC   OF  INSECTS.  235 

and  a  perfectly  tuned  instrument,  the  corresponding 
changes  produced  in  the  shrillness  of  the  tones  of  these 
little  insects,  by  the  changes  in  the  temperature  of  the 
atmosphere,  might  be  marked  with  such  a  degree  of 
accuracy,  as  to  enable  us  to  use  them  within  certain 
limits,  as  a  musical  thermometer.  In  my  observations 
I  used  a  very  ordinary  thermometer  to  mark  the  weather, 
and  a  German  flute,  which  is  an  inaccurate  instrument 
for  such  a  purpose,  to  mark  the  musical  key  of  the 
insects.  Some  allowance,  therefore,  ought  to  be  made 
for  any  little  incorrectness  which  a  future  observer  may 
detect  in  these  results.  I  will  venture  to  assert,  how 
ever,  that  the  result  of  any  future  experiments  of  this 
kind  would  not  differ,  materially,  from  that  of  the  fol 
lowing  table :  — 

Height  of  Thermometer.  Key-note  of  the  Insects. 

80°  F  natural,  perfect  time  and  tune. 

75°  Eflat,  "         "  " 

70°  D,  "        "  " 

65°  C,  imperfect  time  and  tune. 

60°  B  flat,     "         "  " 

55°  A,  key-note  hardly  to  be  detected,  many 

out  of  time  and  tune. 
50°  G,  a  few  individuals  only  singing  slowly 

and  feebly- 


XXX. 

THE    FLOWERS    OF   AUTUMN. 


THE  student  of  nature,  who  is  accustomed  to  general 
observation,  cannot  fail  to  have  noticed  the  different 
character  of  the  flowers  of  spring,  summer,  and  autumn. 
Each  season,  as  well  as  climate,  has  a  description  of 
vegetation  peculiar  to  itself ;  for  as  spring  is  not  desti 
tute  of  fruits,  neither  is  autumn  of  flowers,  though  they 
have  in  general  but  little  resemblance  to  one  another. 
Those  of  spring,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  are  deli 
cate  and  herbaceous,  pale  in  their  tints,  and  fragrant  in 
their  odors.  The  summer  flowers  are  larger,  more  bril 
liant  in  their  colors  and  not  so  highly  perfumed  as  those 
of  spring.  Lastly,  the  flowers  of  autumn  appear  in 
unlimited  profusion,  neither  so  brilliant  as  the  former, 
nor  so  delicate  as  the  latter.  They  are  produced  on 
woody  stalks,  often  in  crowded  clusters,  and  nearly  des 
titute  of  fragrance.  The  differences  in  the  general  char 
acteristics  of  the  flowers  of  different  seasons  are  an 
interesting  theme  of  speculation  ;  and  they  represent, 
somewhat  imperfectly,  the  flowers  of  the  different  lati 
tudes.  The  flowers  of  the  higher  latitudes  resemble 
those  of  spring,  of  the  temperate  zone  those  of  summer, 
and  the  flowers  of  the  tropics  those  of  early  autumn. 


FLOWERS   OF   AUTUMN.  237 

The  summer  flowers  are  in  their  greatest  splendor  in 
the  latter  part  of  June.  The  greater  number  of  those 
which  commence  their  flowering  in  August  are  au 
tumnal  flowers,  and  do  not  acquire  their  full  maturity 
until  September.  The  summer  flowers  are  charac 
terized  by  their  large  size  and  brilliant  colors,  and  com 
bine  the  two  qualities  of  delicacy  and  splendor  in  a 
greater  degree  than  those  of  any  other  season.  Such 
are  the  different  species  of  the  beautiful  orchis  tribe,  the 
cardinal  flower,  the  cymbidium,  the  arethusas,  and  some 
of  the  wild  lilies.  The  majority  of  the  flowering 
shrubs  put  out  their  blossoms  in  early  summer,  just 
after  the  blossoming  of  the  fruit-trees.  These  diminish 
in  number  as  the  summer  advances,  and  in  autumn 
hardly  one  is  to  be  found  that  is  not  loaded  with  seeds 
or  fruit.  The  flowering  plants  of  autumn,  however, 
though  not  shrubs,  are  woody  in  their  texture,  and 
many  are,  in  fact,  a  kind  of  annual  shrubbery. 

The  summer  flowers  may  be  said  to  date  their  com 
mencement  with  the  elegant  Canadian  rhodora,  and  to 
end  with  the  alder-leaved  clethra,  a  flowering  shrub 
very  common  in  our  swamps,  bearing  long  slender 
spikes  of  white  blossoms,  which  have  the  odor  of  lilacs. 
During  this  interval,  the  most  beautiful  flowering  shrubs 
of  our  climate  unfold  their  blossoms.  The  rhodora  is 
followed  in  succession  by  the  honeysuckles,  the  kalmias, 
or  false  laurels,  the  azaleas,  the  viburnums,  and  many 
others  not  less  important  as  ornaments  of  our  native 
landscape.  The  flowering  of  the  alder-leaved  clethra, 
marks  the  decline  of  summer.  After  this,  the  remain 
der  of  the  month  of  August  is  a  period  rather  barren 
of  wild  flowers.  The  most  of  those  which  are  peculiar 
to  summer,  have  faded,  and  the  autumnal  tribes  are 
still  ripening  their  buds.  There  seems  to  be  a  short 


238  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

suspension  during  this  month,  of  the  efforts  of  nature, 
while  she  is  preparing  to  unfold  the  brilliant  treasures 
of  autumn. 

The  spring  produces  in  the  greatest  abundance  those 
flowers  that  affect  a  northern  latitude.  As  the  season 
advances  we  find  more  of  those  tribes  which  are  pe 
culiar  to  warm  climates.  The  roses  and  rosaceous 
flowers  usually  appear  in  the  early  summer  weeks,  and 
the  flowers  of  these  genera  are  rare  in  tropical  regions, 
being  the  denizens  chiefly  of  temperate  latitudes.  The 
papilionaceous  flowers,  of  which  the  greater  numbers 
of  species  are  found  within  the  tropics,  do  not  appear 
with  us  in  profusion  until  the  latter  part  of  summer. 
The  prevailing  hues  of  the  summer  flowers  are  the  dif 
ferent  shades  of  scarlet,  crimson,  and  purple,  which 
become  paler  as  the  days  decrease  in  length  and  the 
temperature  becomes  cooler.  Thus  the  bulbous  are- 
thusa,  that  flowers  in  June,  is  of  a  brilliant  purple  or 
crimson  ;  while  the  adder's-tongue  arethusa,  that  appears 
a  month  later,  is  of  a  pale  lilac.  The  brightest  tints  of 
our  native  species  belong  to  the  summer  flowers.  Such 
are  the  scarlet  lobelia,  the  narrow-leaved  kalmia,  the 
red  lily,  and  the  swamp  rose. 

With  August  commences  a  kind  of  vegetation  unlike 
any  that  has  preceded  it.  The  compound  flowers,  a 
very  extensive  tribe,  begin  to  be  conspicuous.  These 
flowers  are  characteristic  of  vegetation  in  the  autumn, 
the  greater  part  of  them  coming  to  perfection  during 
this  season,  commencing  with  a  few  species  in  the 
month  of  August.  All  these  increase  in  beauty  and 
variety  until  September  arrives,  bearing  superb  garlands 
of  asters,  sunflowers,  and  golden-rods,  which,  though 
exceeded  in  delicacy  and  brilliancy  by  the  earlier  flow 
ers,  are  unsurpassed  in  splendor.  The  season  of  the 


FLOWERS   OF   AUTUMN.  239 

autumnal  flowers  may  be  dated  as  commencing  with 
the  flowering  of  the  trumpet  weed,  or  purple  eupa- 
torium.  This  is  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  plants  in 
our  wet  meadows,  during  the  early  part  of  September. 
It  often  grows  perfectly  straight  to  the  height  of  six 
feet,  in  a  favorable  soil,  bearing  at  regular  distances 
around  its  cylindrical  stem,  a  whorl  of  leaves,  which  by 
their  peculiar  curvature  give  the  plant  a  fancied  resem 
blance  to  a  trumpet.  Soon  after  this  appear  the  yellow 
gerardias,  bringing  along  with  them  countless  multi 
tudes  of  asters,  golden-rods,  and  autumnal  dandelions, 
until  the  uplands  are  universally  spangled  with  them, 
and  gleam  with  a  profusion  of  blossoms  unwitnessed 
at  any  other  season. 

The  asters  are  the  most  remarkable  of  the  flowers  of 
autumn,  and  are,  in  many  respects,  characteristic  of 
them.  Their  stalks  are  woody  —  but  they  are  not 
shrubs,  and  their  flowers  are  more  delicate  than  brilliant. 
The  foreign  asters  which  are  cultivated  in  our  gardens, 
though  exceeding  the  native  species  in  the  brilliancy  of 
their  hues,  are  inferior  to  the  latter  in  elegance  of  growth, 
and  in  the  delicate  structure  of  their  blossoms.  The 
prevailing  color  of  the  autumnal  flowers  is  yellow ;  yet 
there  is  not  a  single  yellow  aster  among  their  whole 
extensive  tribe.  Near  the  latter  part  of  September,  the 
fields  are  covered  with  asters  of  every  shade,  from  the 
deep  blue  of  the  cyaneus  and  the  purple  of  the  New 
England  aster,  to  the  purest  white.  The  walls  and  the 
edges  of  the  woods  are  bordered  with  long  rows  of 
golden-rods,  and  multitudes  of  gaudy  flowers  have 
usurped  the  dominion  of  the  roses,  hiding  the  summer 
shrubbery  beneath  their  tall  and  spreading  herbage. 

In  the  latter  part  of  autumn  some  of  the  flowers 
bear  a  resemblance  to  those  of  spring.  Such  are  the 


240  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

neottia  which  continues  in  flower  until  November,  and 
the  purple  gerardia,  which  bears  no  resemblance  to  the 
other  flowers  of  autumn.  Almost  simultaneously  with 
the  tinting  of  the  forest  trees  comes  forth  the  last  beau 
tiful  visitant  of  our  fields,  the  blue-fringed  gentian. 
This  little  flower  marks  the  decline  of  autumnal  vege 
tation.  It  begins  to  unfold  itself  during  the  latter  part 
of  September,  and  may  often  be  found  in  the  meadows 
after  the  November  frosts  have  seared  the  verdure  of 
the  fields,  and  changed  the  variegated  hues  of  the  forest 
into  one  monotonous  tinge  of  brown  and  purple. 

When  the  woods  are  completely  divested  of  their  fo 
liage,  and  the  landscape  wants  nothing  but  snow  to 
yield  it  the  aspect  of  winter,  the  hamainelis,  or  witch- 
hazel,  still  retains  its  yellow  blossoms,  in  defiance  of 
the  later  frosts.  Nothing  is  lively  around  it  but  the 
evergreens,  and  no  plant  puts  forth  its  blossoms  after 
this,  unless  some  flower  of  spring  should  peep  out  un 
seasonably  from  under  the  protection  of  some  sunny 
knoll.  The  evergreens  are  now  in  all  their  beauty,  and 
we  search  the  fields  in  vain  for  aught  but  the  presages 
of  winter. 


XXXI. 

O  CTO  BER. 


THE  cool  and  temperate  breezes  that  prevail  at  this 
time  almost  constantly  from  the  west,  attended  with  a 
clear  atmosphere,  denote  the  arrival  of  the  brilliant 
month  of  October,  with  its  climate  that  alternately 
chills  the  frame  with  frosty  vapors  by  night,  and  enlivens 
the  heart  with  beauty  and  sunshine  by  day.  At  sun 
rise  and  sundown,  the  villagers  are  gathered  round  their 
fires,  shivering  with  the  cold  ;  the  chirping  insects  have 
also  crept  into  their  shelters  and  are  silent.  But  ere  the 
sun  has  gained  half  his  meridian  height,  the  villagers 
have  forsaken  their  fires,  and  are  busy  in  the  orchards 
beneath  the  glowing  sunshine ;  and  the  insects  aroused 
from  their  torpor,  and  warmed  into  new  life,  have  again, 
commenced  their  chirping  as  merrily  as  in  August.  A 
multitude  of  winged  insects  that  could  hardly  creep 
with  torpor  in  the  morning,  are  now  darting  and  spin 
ning  among  the  variegated  herbage  of  the  meadows,  and 
the  crickets  are  again  singing  their  peculiar  monotonous 
songs  among  the  grassy  knolls. 

There  are  occasionally  dull  and  cloudy  days  in  Octo 
ber,  the  dreary  precursors  of  approaching  winter ;  but 
21 


242  STUDIES    IN    THE   FIELD    AND    FOREST. 

the  most  of  them  are  bright  and  clear,  and  unequalled 
by  those  of  any  other  period  in  exhilarating  salubrity. 
There  are  no  sleeping  mists  drawn  over  the  skies  to 
obscure  the  transparency  of  the  atmosphere  ;  but  far  as 
the  eye  can  reach,  the  distant  hills  lift  up  their  heads 
with  a  clear  unclouded  outline,  and  the  blue  arch  of 
heaven  preserves  its  pure  azure,  down  almost  to  the 
bounds  of  the  horizon.  In  the  mornings  of  such  days 
a  white  fleecy  cloud  is  settled  upon  the  streams  and 
lowlands,  in  which  the  early  sunbeams  are  refracted 
with  all  the  myriad  hues  of  dawn,  forming  halos  and 
imperfect  rainbows,  that  seem  to  be  pictured  on  a 
groundwork  of  drifted  snow.  By  this  vapor,  nearly 
motionless  at  sunrise,  we  may  trace  the  winding  course 
of  the  small  rivers,  far  along  through  the  distant  pros 
pect.  But  the  sun  quickly  dissipates  this  fleecy  cloud. 
As  the  winds  float  it  slowly  and  gracefully  over  the 
plains,  it  melts  into  transparency  ;  and  ere  the  sun  has 
gained  ten  degrees  in  his  orbit,  the  last  feathery  frag 
ment  has  vanished,  and  left  him  in  the  clear  blue  firma 
ment,  to  pursue  the  remainder  of  his  career,  without 
one  shadow  to  tarnish  his  glory. 

October  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  the  months, 
unsurpassed  in  the  clearness  of  its  skies,  and  in  the 
wonderful  variety  of  tints  which  are  sprinkled  over  all 
vegetation.  He  who  has  an  eye  and  a  taste  for  beauti 
ful  colors,  must  ever  admire  the  scenery  of  this  last 
month  of  foliage  and  flowers.  As  nature  loses  the 
delicacy  of  her  charms,  she  is  more  lavish  of  the  gaudy 
decorations,  with  which  she  embroiders  her  apparel. 
While  she  appears  before  us  in  her  living  attire,  from 
the  early  spring  to  the  late  autumn,  she  is  constantly 
changing  her  vesture  with  each  revolving  month.  The 
flowers  that  spangle  the  green  turf,  or  wreathe  them- 


OCTOBER.  243 

selves  upon  the  trees  and  vines,  and  the  green  herbage 
with  all  its  various  shades  of  verdure,  constitute,  with 
their  successive  changes,  her  spring  and  summer  adorn 
ment;  but  ere  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  she  makes  herself 
garlands  of  the  withering  foliage,  and  crowns  the  brows 
of  her  mountains  and  the  bosoms  of  her  forests  in  the 
most  beautiful  array. 

Though  the  present  is  a  melancholy  time  of  the  year, 
we  are  preserved  from  cheerless  reflections,  by  the  bright 
ness  of  the  sunshine  and  the  interminable  beauty  of  the 
landscape.  The  sky  in  clear  weather,  is  of  the  deepest 
blue ;  and  the  ocean  and  the  lakes,  slightly  ruffled  by 
the  fluttering  October  winds,  which  are  seldom  tranquil, 
acquire  a  peculiar  depth  of  coloring,  unwitnessed  when 
their  surface  is  calm.  Diverted  by  the  unusual  charms 
of  nature,  while  we  look  with  a  mournful  heart  upon  the 
graves  of  the  flowers,  we  involuntarily  turn  our  eyes 
upward  and  around  us,  where  the  woods  are  gleaming 
like  a  wilderness  of  roses,  and  forget  in  our  ravishment, 
the  lovely  things  we  have  lost.  As  the  flowers  wither 
and  vanish  from  our  sight,  their  colors  seem  to  revive  in 
the  foliage  of  the  trees,  as  if  each  dying  blossom  had 

•/          O 

bequeathed  its  beauty  to  the  forest  boughs,  that  had 
kindly  protected  it  from  wind  and  blast.  The  trees  are 
one  by  one  putting  aside  their  vesture  of  green,  and 
slowly  assuming  their  new  robe  of  many  hues.  From 
the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  month,  the  landscape 
suffers  a  complete  metamorphosis ;  and  October  may 
be  said  to  represent  in  the  successive  changes  of  its 
aspect,  all  the  floral  magnificence  of  summer. 

Notwithstanding  the  late  frosts,  the  grass  is  still 
green  from  the  valleys  to  the  hill-tops,  and  many  a 
flower  is  still  smiling  upon  us,  as  if  there  were  no  winter 
in  the  year.  Many  fair  ones  still  linger  in  their  cheer- 


244  STUDIES   IN  THE   FIELD    AND   FOREST. 

fill  but  faded  bowers,  the  emblems  of  contentment, 
seeming  perfectly  happy,  if  they  can  but  greet  a  few 
beams  of  sunshine  to  temper  the  frosty  gales.  In  wet 
places  I  still  behold  the  lovely  neottia,  with  its  small 
white  flowers,  arranged  in  a  spiral  line  about  their  stem, 
and  giving  out  the  delicate  incense  of  a  fresh-blown 
lily.  The  purple  gerardia,  too,  has  not  yet  forsaken  us ; 
and  the  gentians,  and  the  golden  coreopsis  will  wait  to 
welcome  the  next  month  before  they  wholly  leave  our 
borders. 

If  we  quit  the  fields  we  find  in  the  gardens  a  profu 
sion  of  lively  exotics.  Dahlias,  china-asters,  and  nu 
merous  other  plants  that  were  created  for  the  embellish 
ment  of  other  climes,  are  rewarding  the  hands  that 
cherished  them  with  their  fairest  forms  and  hues.  All 
these  are  destined,  not  like  the  flowers  of  our  own 
clime,  to  bloom  throughout  their  natural  period,  and 
then  sink  quietly  into  decay ;  but  they  are  cut  down  by 
frosts  in  the  very  summer  of  their  loveliness.  Already 
are  their  leaves  withered  and  blackened,  while  the 
native  plants,  in  defiance  of  the  frost,  grow  brighter 
and  brighter  with  every  new  morning,  until  they  are 
finally  seared  by  the  icy  breath  of  November. 

But  to  the  forests  we  must  look,  to  behold  the  fairest 
spectacle  of  the  season,  now  glowing  with  the  infinitely 
varied  and  constantly  multiplying  tints  of  a  summer 
sunset.  The  first  changes  appear  in  the  low  grounds, 
where  vegetation  is  exposed  to  the  earliest  blights,  and 
is  prematurely  ripened  by  the  alternation  of  chill  dews 
and  sunshine.  Very  early  in  the  season,  we  behold 
these  tints  scattered  among  the  glossy  green  leaves  of 
the  tupelo-tree,  giving  to  those  which  have  received  the 
tinge,  the  appearance  of  scarlet  blossoms  intermingled 
with  the  foliage.  But  the  maples  assume  a  more  rapid 


OCTOBER.  245 

transformation.  Sometimes  in  the  space  of  one  night, 
a  whole  tree  will  suddenly,  as  if  by  enchantment,  put 
off  its  green  robe  and  appear  in  a  full  garb  of  crimson. 
The  leaves  are  suddenly  metamorphosed  into  flowers, 
as  if  the  dew-drops  brought  with  them  the  hues  of  the 
beautiful  clouds  from  which  they  fell.  But  while  some 
trees  are  thoroughly  changed  in  their  appearance,  others 
are  only  impurpled  with  a  delicate  shade  of  red,  or 
slightly  tinged  with  orange  or  russet ;  for  nature,  while 
decorating  some  in  one  uniform  color,  scatters  over  the 
remainder  a  gentle  sprinkling  of  every  hue. 

It  is  my  delight,  during  all  this  month,  to  ramble  in 
the  field  and  by  the  wood  side,  to  take  note  of  these 
changes,  as  they  happen  by  day.  Every  morning  as  it 
arrives,  witnesses  a  new  aspect  in  the  face  of  nature, 
like  each  passing  moment  that  attends  the  brightening 
and  fading  of  the  evening  sky.  The  landscape  we 
visited  but  yesterday,  seems  to-day  like  a  different  pros 
pect,  save  in  the  arrangement  of  the  grounds.  Beauty 
has  suddenly  awoke  upon  the  face  of  a  dull  and  homely 
wood,  and  variety  has  sprung  up  in  the  midst  of  tire 
some  uniformity.  There  are  patches  of  brightly  tinted 
shrubbery,  that  seem  to  have  risen,  during  the  night, 
from  the  bed  of  the  earth,  where  yesterday  there  was 
but  a  dull  uniform  green  ;  and  when  surrounded  by  the 
unfaded  grasses,  they  resemble  little  flower  plats,  im- 
bosomed  in  verdure.  As  the  month  advances,  one 
tree  after  another  partakes  of  this  beautiful  transforma 
tion.  No  two  trees  exhibit  the  same  combinations  of 
tints;  but  all  the  varieties  of  red,  yellow,  and  purple 
are  resplendent  from  the  different  species.  It  seems 
as  if  the  departed  flowers  of  summer  had  revisited 
the  earth,  and  were  wreathing  their  congregated  gar- 

21* 


246  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

lands  around  the  brows  of  the  woods  and  the  moun 
tains. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  month,  the  most  of  the  trees 
are  still  green  in  the  uplands,  but  not  brightly  green  as 
in  summer.     Their  verdure  is  faded  and  rusty,  and  in 
some  it  is  even  darker  than  it  was  during  the  health  and 
-vigor  of  the  foliage.     But  it  is  a  sombre  complexion 
produced  by  age,  and  not  a  deeper  green.     The  ash- 
tree  grows  darker,  by  receiving  a  deep  mulberry  shade, 
mingled  almost  imperceptibly  with  the  greenness  of  the 
leaf.     This  tint  gradually   brightens,  into   a  brownish 
lilac,  with  a  peculiar  transparency,  and  soon  the  leaves, 
after  fading  into  yellow,  rapidly  fall  from  the  tree.    The 
leaves  of  several  species  of  the  oak  partake  of  a  deeper 
shade,  just  before  they  assume  the  purple  and  chocolate 
hues  that  precede  their  decay.     Though  many  trees  are 
marked  by  a  variety  of  shades,  there  is  always  in  the 
foliage  of  the  same  tree  a  predominance  of  one  color. 
The  maples  exhibit  the  different  reds  and  yellows,  from 
orange  and  vermilion,  through  every  gradation  of  scar 
let   and  crimson,  while  the  willows,  elms,  and  birches 
are  dyed  with  the  various  shades  of  olive,  yellow,  and 
russet.   The  aspens,  too,  present  a  mixture  of  green  and 
yellow,  and  their  tinted  leaves,  as  they  tremble  in  the 
wind,  resemble  a  multitude  of  golden  butterflies,  flutter 
ing  and  sporting  among  their  branches.     While  con 
templating  this  gorgeous  scene  of  splendor,  our  eyes 
are  attracted  towards  an  occasional  towering  evergreen, 
that  stands  alone  among  the  glittering  multitude,  un 
shorn  of  its  verdure,  like   some  proud  spirit,  that  scorns 
the  fashions  of  the  world. 

On  every  side  of  our  walk, -various  plats  of  herbage 
gleam  upon  our  sight,  each  with  one  unmingled  shade 


OCTOBER.  247 

of  some  lively  hue ;  and  every  shrub  and  every  leafy 
herb  presents  the  appearance  of  a  scattered  variety  of 
bouquets,  wreaths,  and  floral  embroidery.  It  would  seem 
as  if  the  wood-nymphs,  while  fleeing  from  northern 
gales,  in  quest  of  summer  groves,  had  left  their  robes 
upon  the  beds  of  the  flowers,  to  protect  them  from  the 
blasts  of  winter.  The  farms  in  the  lowlands  exhibit 
wide  fields  of  intermingled  orange  and  russet,  and  the 
shrubs  of  different  colors  that  spring  up  among  them  in 
tufts  and  knolls,  add  to  the  spectacle  an  endless  variety 
of  splendor.  The  creeping  herbs  and  trailing  vines, 
some  of  which  are  still  begemmed  with  fruit,  exhibit 
the  same  variety  of  tinting,  as  if  designed  for  wreaths  to 
garland  the  gray  rocks,  and  to  yield  a  smile  to  the  face 
of  nature,  that  shall  make  glad  the  heart  of  the  solitary 
rambler,  who  is  ready  to  weep  over  the  fair  objects  that 
have  fled. 

Day  and  night  have,  at  length,  about  equally  divided 
the  light  and  the  darkness.  The  time  of  the  latter 
harvest  is  nearly  past,  and  the  winter  fruits  are  mostly 
gathered  and  stored  into  barns.  The  mornings  and 
evenings  are  cool  and  cheerless,  and  the  west  wind  has 
grown  harsh  and  uncomfortable.  The  bland  weather 
of  early  autumn  is  rapidly  gliding  from  our  year.  Night 
is  continually  encroaching  upon  the  dominion  of  day. 
The  white  frosts  already  glitter  in  the  arbors  of  the 
summer  dews,  and  the  cold  north  wind  is  whistling 
rudely  in  the  haunts  of  the  sweet  summer  zephyrs. 
The  scents  of  fading  leaves,  and  of  the  ripened  har 
vest,  have  driven  out  the  delicate  incense  of  the  flow 
ers,  whose  fragrant  offerings  have  all  ascended  to 
heaven.  Dark  threatening  clouds  occasionally  frown 
upon  us,  as  they  gather  for  a  few  hours  about  the  hori 
zon,  the  melancholy  omens  of  the  coming  of  winter. 


248  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

But  there  is  pleasantness  still  in  a  rural  excursion, 
and  when  the  cold  mists  of  dawn  have  passed  away, 
and  the  hoarfrost  has  melted  in  the  warm  sunshine,  it 
is  my  delight  to  go  forth  into  the  fields,  to  take  note  of 
the  last  beautiful  things  of  summer  vegetation,  that 
linger  in  the  threshold  of  autumn. 


XXXII. 

CLOUDS. 


THE  sky  would  present  very  little  in  the  daytime,  to 
charm  the  sight  or  interest  the  mind,  if  it  were  destitute 
of  clouds.  From  these  proceed  all  the  beautiful  tints 
of  sunrise  and  sunset,  the  rainbow,  and  the  various  con 
figurations  that  deck  the  arches  of  the  firmament.  The 
different  forms  and  colors  they  assume  in  their  progress 
through  the  atmosphere,  and  their  ever  varying  positions 
and  combinations  are  capable  of  awakening  the  most 
agreeable  emotions  of  beauty  and  sublimity.  I  shall  not 
speak  of  the  scientific  arrangements  of  clouds.  The 
classifications  of  natural  objects  are  necessary  to  the 
progress  of  science,  to  enable  the  mind*  to  grasp  all  their 
species,  and  to  understand  their  differences  and  their 
relations.  But  these  artificial  systems  have  done  more 
than  any  vulgar  prejudice  to  render  the  study  of  nature 
unpopular.  The  immense  vocabulary  of  terms  pre 
sented  to  the  mind  of  the  young  student,  gives  him  a 
magnified  sense  of  the  task  he  must  perform,  at  the 
very  threshold  of  nature's  temple,  that  discourages  him, 
and  deters  him  from  entering  within  it.  I  shall  simply 
treat  of  clouds  as  they  appear  to  the  eyes  and  the  mind 
of  a  person  of  sensibility  and  fancy. 


250  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

The  greatest  painters  have  delighted  in  the  represen 
tation  of  clouds,  knowing  that  there  is  no  landscape 
that  may  not  be  improved  by  their  celestial  forms  and 
tints,  and  that  a  scene  representing  any  passion  or  situ 
ation  may  be  heightened  by  such  accompaniments,  har 
monizing  with  the  cheerfulness  or  the  sadness,  with  the 
lowliness  or  magnificence  of  the  subject.  Poets  have 
ever  been  mindful  of  the  same  effects ;  and  the  Hebrew 
prophets  have  exalted  the  sublimity  of  their  descrip 
tions,  and  increased  the  efficacy  of  their  prophecies  and 
their  admonitions,  by  employing  imagery  derived  from 
these  appearances,  rightly  deeming  the  scenery  of  the 
heavens  the  most  proper  to  illustrate  their  sacred  themes, 
and  the  divine  attributes  of  the  Deity.  Hence  the 
Lord,  who  set  his  bow  in  a  cloud  as  the  token  of  a 
covenant  between  him  and  the  earth,  is  represented  as 
making  the  clouds  his  chariot  and  his  pavilion  when 
ascending  to  heaven,  or  when  descending  to  earth  to 
speak  to  the  messengers  of  his  will. 

I  am  at  a  loss  whether  to  attribute  the  peculiar 
pleasure  that  attends  us,  on  a  sight  of  the  varied  forms 
and  hues  of  clouds,  to  the  physical  effect  of  light  and 
colors  upon  the  sensorium,  or  to  mental  association. 
It  is  certain  that  no  spectacle  in  nature  produces  so  in 
tense  an  emotion  of  cheerfulness  and  sublimity.  The 
latter  emotion  is  most  commonly  excited  by  sombre 
scenes,  added  to  something  that  affects  one  with  a  cer 
tain  amount  of  terror,  while  he  retains  a  consciousness 
of  security.  But  when  the  western  clouds,  piled  in 
glittering  arches  one  above  another,  and  widening  as 
they  recede  from  the  great  source  of  light,  exhibit  their 
several  gradations  of  hues,  from  the  outermost  arch, 
successively,  of  violet,  purple,  crimson,  vermilion,  and 
orange,  until  the  eyes  are  dazzled  by  the  golden  radi- 


CLOUDS.  251 

ance  that  beams  from  the  throne  of  day,  the  mind 
is  affected  with  an  emotion  of  sublimity,  unallied 
with  terror,  and  accompanied  with  the  most  cheerful 
exaltation. 

Every  scene  in  the  universe  is  attended,  when  we 
behold  it,  by  a  peculiar  and  specific  sensation.  Our 
emotions  are  as  nearly  infinite  as  our  thoughts ;  and 
nature  provides  an  infinite  variety  of  scenes  to  harmo 
nize  with  all,  that  no  existing  susceptibility  to  pleasure 
shall  be  lost,  for  the  want  of  something  external  to  act 
upon  it,  and  render  it  available  as  a  source  of  happiness. 
The  human  countenance  is  not  more  varied  in  its  ex 
pressions  than  the  face  of  nature.  There  are  beams  in 
the  countenance  of  morn  and  even,  capable  of  irradiat 
ing  into  our  souls  a  feeling  of  intense  delight ;  and  it 
is  no  marvel  that  nature  should  seem,  as  the  poets  have 
described  her,  to  smile  upon  us  in  the  sunshine  that 
sparkles  in  the  morning  dews,  and  gilds  the  evening 
sky,  or  in  the  moonlight  that  reveals  to  us  a  new  firma 
ment  of  wonders  among  the  silvery  clouds  of  night. 
The  forms  and  tints  of  the  clouds  produce  effects  upon 
the  mind  that  vary  with  the  hour  of  the  day.  In  the 
morning  there  is  a  feeling  of  hopefulness  attending  the 
spectacle  of  the  constantly  increasing  splendor  of  the 
clouds,  commencing  with  the  dark  purple  tints  of  dawn, 
and  widening  with  beautiful  radiating  undulations, 
through  their  whole  succession  of  hues,  into  perfect 
day.  As  we  are  prepared  by  the  buoyant  feelings  that 
come  from  the  spectacle  of  dawn,  to  enter  with  a  glad 
heart  upon  the  duties  of  the  day,  we  are  equally  in 
spired  by  the  spectacle  of  sunset,  with  a  sentiment 
of  tranquillity,  that  prepares  us  for  sound  and  healthful 
repose. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  understand  that  if  the  sun  rose 


252  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

clearly  into  the  blue  heavens,  without  any  changes  ex 
cept  from  darkness  to  light,  through  all  the  degrees  of 
twilight,  the  charms  of  the  morning  would  be  greatly 
diminished.  But  nature,  that  all  hearts  might  be 
enamoured  of  the  morn,  has  wreathed  her  temples  with 
dappled  crimson,  and  animated  her  countenance  with 
those  milder  glories,  that  so  well  become  the  fair 
daughter  of  the  dawn  and  the  gentle  mother  of  dews. 
In  ancient  fable  Aurora  is  a  beautiful  nymph,  who 
blushes  when  she  first  enters  into  the  presence  of  Day ; 
and  the  clouds  are  the  fabric  with  which  she  veils  her 
features  at  his  approach.  But  a  young  person  of  sen 
sibility  needs  no  such  allegories,  to  inspire  his  mind 
with  a  sense  of  the  incomparable  beauty  and  grandeur 
of  the  orient,  at  the  break  of  day.  It  is  associated  with 
some  of  the  happiest  moments  of  his  life ;  and  the  ex 
hilarated  feelings,  amounting  almost  to  transport,  with 
which  we  look  upon  the  dayspring  in  the  east,  are 
probably  one  cause  of  the  tonic  and  healthful  influence 
of  early  rising. 

Many  theories  have  at  different  times  been  advanced 
to  explain  the  cause  of  the  varying  tints  of  the  clouds ; 
but  it  is  at  length  conceded  that  they  receive  and  reflect 
the  sun's  rays  as  they  are  changed  by  passing  through 
the  atmosphere,  and  that  their  tints  are  owing  to  no 
peculiar  refrangibility  of  the  globules  of  vapor.  As 
the  sun  declines  and  sinks  below  the  horizon,  the  whole 
surrounding  medium  passes  through  the  same  series  of 
tints  which  are  seen  in  the  clouds.  Were  a  snowy 
mountain  situated  directly  before  our  eyes,  we  should 
see  the  graduated  tints  of  yellow  and  orange  at  the 
summit,  deepening  into  crimson  and  purple  in  the 
middle,  and  fading  into  dusky  twilight  at  the  base  of 
the  mountain.  Hence  in  winter,  when  the  sky  is  per- 


CLOUDS.  253 

fectly  clear,  and  the  atmosphere  purely  transparent,  the 
snow  that  covers  the  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  the  tops 
of  the  hills,  is  more  or  less  gilded  and  crimsoned  by  the 
rays  of  the  declining  sun. 

The  forms  of  clouds  are  not  less  beautiful  or  expres 
sive  than  their  colors.  While  their  outlines  are  suffi 
ciently  indefinite  for  picturesque  effects,  they  often 
assume  a  great  uniformity  in  their  aggregations.  The 
frostwork  upon  the  window  panes,  on  cold  winter 
mornings,  exhibits  no  greater  variety  of  figures  than  that 
assumed  by  the  clouds  in  their  distribution  over  the 
heavens.  Beginning  in  the  form  of  vapor  that  rolls  its 
fleecy  masses  slowly  over  the  plain,  resembling,  at  a 
distance,  sometimes  a  smooth  sheet  of  water,  and  at 
other  times  a  drifted  snow  bank,  the  cloud  divides  itself 
as  it  ascends,  into  heaps  of  globular  figures,  that  reflect 
the  sunlight  from  a  thousand  silvery  domes.  These, 
after  gradually  dissolving,  reappear  in  a  host  of  finely 
mottled  images,  resembling  the  scales  of  a  fish,  then 
marshal  themselves  into  undulating  rows  like  the  waves- 
of  the  sea,  and  are  lastly  metamorphosed  into  a  thin 
gauzy  fabric,  like  crumpled  muslin,  or  in  a  long  drapery 
of  hair-like  fringe  overspreading  the  highest  regions  of 
the  atmosphere. 

These  different  forms  of  cloud  are  elevated  according 
to  the  fineness  of  their  texture  and  organization,  the 
finer  and  more  complicated  fabrics  occupying  the  space 
above  the  next  in  degree.  We  often  observe  three 
layers  of  clouds  separated  by  sufficient  space  to  receive 
all  the  different  hues  of  sunset  at  the  same  moment. 
While  the  feather  clouds,  that  occupy  the  greatest  ele 
vation,  are  burnished  with  a  dazzling  radiance,  the 
middle  layers  of  dappled  cloud  will  be  tipt  with  crim 
son,  while  the  violet  and  indigo  hues  prevail  in  the 
22 


254  STUDIES    IN   THE   FIELD   AND    FOREST. 

dense,  unorganized  mass  that  is  spread  out  below.  It 
may  be  remarked,  both  of  the  forms  and  hues  of  clouds, 
that  nature  permits  no  harsh  contrasts  or  sudden  transi 
tions.  The  different  hues  are  laid  softly  one  above 
another,  melting  into  each  other  like  those  in  the 
plumage  of  a  bird  of  paradise.  You  can  never  see 
where  one  hue  terminates  and  another  commences.  It 
is  the  same,  in  a  less  degree,  with  their  forms,  that 
never,  for  two  minutes  in  succession,  remain  unaltered. 
They  exhibit  a  pleasing  irregularity,  and  are  almost 
destitute  of  outlines,  so  that  the  imagination  is  left  to 
carve  out  of  their  obscure  figures  and  arrangements, 
aerial  landscapes,  bright  sunny  valleys,  and  waving 
plains,  with  villages  surrounded  by  turrets  and  the  pin 
nacles  of  mountains. 

The  imagination  is  always  stimulated  by  a  certain 
degree  of  obscurity  in  the  objects  of  sight  and  sound, 
as  well  as  of  thought.  The  sublime  passages  of  the 
poets  are  often  obscure,  suggestive  of  something  that 
produces  a  well-defined  emotion,  but  no  distinct  image 
to  the  understanding.  It  is  this  quality  that  gives  their 
power  to  certain  remarkable  passages  in  the  Hebrew 
prophets.  In  a  terrestrial  landscape,  when  viewed  by 
daylight,  the  outlines  of  objects,  except  at  a  distance, 
are  so  distinct  that  we  can  see  and  easily  describe  their 
forms  and  character.  Distant  objects  have  a  dimness 
of  outline,  and  a  misty  obscurity,  which  are  favorable 
to  an  expression  of  sublimity.  In  the  darkness  of  night 
the  forms  of  trees  exhibit  the  indefinite  shapes  of 
clouds,  and  the  imagination  is  free  to  indulge  its 
caprices,  while,  as  we  pass  by  them  in  a  journey  or  a 
ramble,  the  eyes  are  watching  their  apparent  motions 
and  changes  of  form. 

By  no  scenes  in  nature,  therefore,  is  the  imagination 


CLOUDS.  255 

so  powerfully  excited  as  by  these  celestial  phenomena, 
whether  we  imagine  the  gates  of  heaven  to  be  opened 
beneath  the  triumphal  arches  of  sunset,  or  watch  the 
passing  of  the  gloomy  precursors  of  evil  days,  in  the 
dark  irregular  masses  that  deform  the  sky  before  a 
storm.  The  picturesque  effects  of  clouds  are  in  a  great 
measure  attributable  to  the  dubious  character  of  their 
configurations,  giving  rise  to  peculiar  fancies,  and 
awakening  sentiments  suggested  only  by  the  loftiest 
images  of  poetry.  The  shadows  of  passing  clouds,  as 
they  fall  upon  the  earth,  often  moving  rapidly  with  the 
wind,  are  circumstances  that  add  greatly  to  their  ex 
pression.  Above  all  do  their  motions  contribute  to  the 
beauty  of  landscape,  when,  through  some  opening  in 
their  dense  masses  while  the  greater  part  of  the  pros 
pect  is  enveloped  in  shade,  the  sun  pours  a  full  stream 
of  glory  upon  a  distant  grove,  village,  or  range  of 
hills. 

The  system  of  the  universe  is  attended  with  so  many 
circumstances  that  mar  our  happiness,  that  the  Author 
of  nature  has  benevolently  spread  every  scene  with 
beauty,  that  shall  serve,  by  its  exhilarating  influence,  to 
lift  us  above  the  physical  evils  that  surround  us,  and 
render  us  half  unmindful  of  their  presence.  For  this 
reason  beauty  is  made  to  spring  up,  not  only  in  the 
landscape,  in  the  wilderness,  and  by  the  way-side,  by 
the  sea-shore  and  the  inland  valley ;  but  it  is  spread  in 
the  most  gorgeous  spectacles  upon  the  heavens,  in  the 
infinitely  varied  forms  and  arrangements  of  clouds,  and 
in  their  equally  beautiful  lights,  shades,  and  colors. 
Hence  the  man  of  cultivated  sentiment,  who  takes 
pleasure  in  surveying  the  beauties  of  a  terrestrial  land 
scape,  feels  no  less  delight  in  contemplating  the  scenery 
of  the  heavens.  Every  morning,  noon,  and  evening, 


256  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

afford  him  scenes  always  charming  and  never  tiresome, 
fraught  with  lessons  of  divine  wisdom  arid  benevolence, 
never  heard  from  the  lips  of  man,  and  read  only  in  the 
works  of  him  who  silently  shows  forth  his  wonders  in 
the  landscape  and  the  firmament. 

As  the  most  delightful  views  of  the  ocean  are  ob 
tained  when  a  small  part  of  it  is  seen  through  a  green 
recess  in  a  wood,  for  the  same  reason,  the  blue  sky  is 
never  so  beautiful  as  when  seen  through  the  openings  of 
clouds.  The  emotion  produced  by  any  scene  whatever 
is  always  more  intense,  when  the  greater  part  of  the 
object  is  hidden,  leaving  room  for  the  entrance  of  fanci 
ful  images  into  the  mind.  Clouds  are  peculiarly  sug 
gestive  on  account  of  the  ambiguity  of  their  shapes, 
and  their  constant  changes  of  form  and  arrangement. 
No  person  can  look  at  their  radiant  groups,  if  he  possess 
any  liveliness  of  fancy,  without  indulging  a  variety  of 
poetic  vagaries.  Nothing,  indeed,  in  nature  so  closely 
resembles  the  mysterious  operations  of  thought,  ever 
ceaseless  in  their  motions,  and  ever  varying  in  their 
combinations;  now  passing  from  a  shapeless  heap  into 
a  finely  marshalled  band,  then  dissolving  into  the 
pellucid  atmosphere,  as  a  series  of  thoughts  will  pass 
away  from  our  memory ;  then  slowly  forming  them 
selves  again,  and  recombining  in  a  still  more  beautiful 
and  dazzling  congeries,  in  another  part  of  the  sky ;  now 
gloomy,  changeable,  and  formless,  then  assuming  a 
definite  shape,  and  glowing  with  the  most  lovely  beams 
of  light  and  beauty ;  and  lastly,  fading  into  darkness 
when  the  sun  departs,  as  the  mind  for  a  short  period 
becomes  obliterated  in  sleep. 

Perhaps  not  every  one  has  observed,  that  in  the  even 
ing  after  the  hues  of  the  clouds  have  once  faded,  they 
are  often  reilluminated  before  darkness  comes  on.  Im- 


CLOUDS.  257 

mediately  after  sunset,  the  clouds  that  surround  the 
western  horizon  have  no  remarkable  tints,  the  body  of 
them  being  of  a  dark  gray,  or  ash  color,  having  their 
edges  tipt  with  white.  As  the  sun  retires  below  the 
hemisphere,  the  gray  portion  of  the  clouds  becomes 
brown  or  auburn,  and  the  silvery  edges  of  a  yellow  or 
golden  hue.  While  the  auburn  is  gradually  changing 
into  purple,  the  yellows  deepen  into  orange  and  ver 
milion.  Every  tint  is  constantly  changing  into  a 
deeper  one,  until  the  sky  is  decorated  with  every  imag 
inable  color,  excepting  green  and  blue.  The  two  last 
are  ingredients  in  some  of  the  compound  hues,  but  they 
are  never  seen  in  their  purity.  When  these  colors  have 
attained  their  maximum  of  splendor,  they  gradually 
fade  away,  until  the  body  of  each  cloud  has  turned  to  a 
dull  iron  gray,  and  every  gorgeous  tint  has  vanished. 
The  spectator  then  supposes  that  all  this  scene  of  glory 
is  ended.  After  a  few  minutes,  however,  the  clouds 
begin  once  more  to  brighten,  the  whole  picture  is  gradu 
ally  reilluminated  and  passes  through  another  gradation 
of  more  sombre  tints,  consisting  of  olive,  lilac,  and 
bronze,  or  some  of  their  shades.  The  second  illumina 
tion  is  not  so  bright  or  so  beautiful  as  the  first ;  but  I 
have  known  the  light  that  falls  upon  the  earth  to  be 
sensibly  increased  by  this  reillumination,  without  any 
diminution  of  the  mass  of  clouds. 

It  is  difficult  to  explain  the  source  of  those  highly 
pleasurable  emotions  with  which  we  contemplate  the 
tints  of  the  morning  and  evening  sky.  No  man  can 
look  at  them  without  being  convinced  that  there  is 
intrinsic  beauty  in  colors ;  though  it  is  the  opinion  of 
some  philosophers  that  even  the  sensations  that  spring 
from  the  sight  of  colors  arise  from  their  expression. 
22* 


258  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

There  are  unnumbered  mysterious  sources  from  which 
our  ideas  and  sentiments  are  obtained ;  and  the  capacity 
of  any  thing  in  nature  to  produce  a  pleasing  or  a  dis 
pleasing  thought  or  sentiment,  constitutes  the  expression 
•of  that  object.  As  light  produces  cheerfulness,  and 
darkness  gloom,  it  may  be  that  all  the  different  colors 
have  a  similar  natural  association  with  some  certain 
mood  of  mind,  and  are  capable  of  arousing  certain 
trains  of  thought  which  may  lead  to  some  definite  ideas 
and  images.  Nature,  who  creates  nothing  in  vain,  and 
who,  by  the  songs  of  birds,  inspires  the  human,  heart 
with  the  sentinient  of.  adoration,  may,  by  this  spectacle 
of  empyrean  beauty,  lift  the  mind  above  a  purely  sen 
sual  philosophy,  to  the  contemplation  of  that  infinite 
wisdom  that  pervades  the  universe. 

Men  of  the  world  may  praise  the  effects  of  certain 
medical  excitants  that  serve,  by  benumbing  the  out 
ward  senses,  to  exalt  the  soul  into  reveries  of  bliss  and 
untried  exercises  of  thought.  But  the  only  truly 
divine  exhilaration  proceeds  from  contemplating  the 
beautiful  and  sublime  scenes  of  nature,  as  beheld  on 
the  face  of  the  earth  and  the  heavens.  It  is  under  this 
vast  canopy  of  celestial  splendors,  more  than  in  any 
other  situation,  that  the  faculties  may  become  inspired, 
without  madness,  and  exalted  without  subsequent  de 
pression.  I  never  believe  so  much  in  the  immortality 
-of  the  soul  as  when,  at  sunset,  I  look  through  a  long 
vista  of  luminous  clouds,  far  down  into  that  mystic 
region  of  light  in  which,  we  are  fain  to  imagine,  are 
deposited  the  secrets  of  the  universe.  I  cannot  believe 
that  all  this  panorama  of  unimaginable  loveliness, 
which  is  spread  out  over  earth,  sea,  and  sky,  is  without 
some  moral  signification.  The  blue  heavens  are  the 


CLOUDS.  259 

page  whereon  nature  has  revealed  some  pleasant  inti 
mations  of  the  mysteries  of  a  more  spiritual  existence ; 
and  no  charming  vision  of  heaven  and  immortality  ever 
entered  the  human  soul,  but  the  Deity  responded  to 
it  upon  the  firmament,  in  letters  of  gold,  ruby,  and 
sapphire. 


XXXIII. 

WATER    SCENERY. 


THERE  is  no  single  thing  in  nature  that  adds  more 
beauty  to  landscape  than  water.  It  is  emblematical  of 
purity  and  tranquillity ;  it  is  suggestive  of  multitudes 
of  pleasant  rural  images,  and,  besides  these  moral  ex 
pressions,  it  possesses  a  great  deal  of  intrinsic  beauty. 
The  mirrored  surface  of  a  lake  or  a  stream,  reflecting 
the  hues  and  forms  of  the  clouds  in  the  heavens,  and 
of  the  trees  and  shrubbery  on  its  banks,  is  pleasing  to 
the  eye,  independently  of  any  suggestion  that  may 
occur  to  a  fanciful  mind.  The  eye  requires  to  be  prac 
tised,  or  rather  the  mind  must  be  educated  in  a  certain 
manner,  before  it  can  enjoy  and  appreciate  moral 
beauty.  But  the  beauty  of  a  smooth  surface  of  water, 
of  waves  trembling  in  the  moonlight,  of  a  spouting 
fountain,  or  a  sparkling  rill,  is  obvious  and  attractive 
even  to  a  child.  In  water  have  color  and  form  and 
motion  intimately  combined  their  charms,  assuming 
the  loveliest  tints  in  the  dews  of  heaven  and  the  spray 
of  the  ocean,  and  every  imaginable  form  of  beauty  in 
the  lake  and  its  sinuosities,  and  the  river  in  its  various 
windings  through  vale  and  mountain. 

Water  is  not  only  beautiful  in  itself;  but  it  is  one  of 


WATER   SCENERY.  261 

the  chief  sources  of  pleasing  variety  in  the  expression 
of  landscape,  whether  we  view  it  as  spread  out  on  the 
silver  bosom  of  a  lake,  the  serpentine  course  of  a  river, 
or  by  its  outlines  forming  those  endless  changes,  that 
delight  the  voyager  by  the  sea-shore.  Every  one  must 
have  observed,  when  riding  through  an  unattractive 
country,  how  it  seems  overspread  with  a  sudden  charm, 
when  we  come  in  sight  of  a  lake  or  a  stream.  What 
was  before  monotonous  is  now  agreeably  varied ;  what 
before  was  spiritless  is  now  animated  and  cheering.  A 
similar  effect  is  produced  by  the  sight  of  a  little  cottage 
in  a  desert  or  uninhabited  region,  or  in  the  midst  of  an 
uncultivated  plain.  The  eye  wanders  about  unsatisfied, 
until  it  sees  this  human  dwelling,  when  it  rests  con 
tented,  because  it  has  found  something  to  fix  the  atten 
tion  and  to  awaken  a  sympathetic  interest.  We  are 
not  always  aware  how  greatly  the  beauty  of  landscape 
is  founded  on  our  habitual  associations.  At  the  sight 
of  water  we  think  at  once  of  the  numerous  delights, 
bounties,  and  luxuries,  that  flow  from  its  beneficent 
streams;  and  perhaps  nothing  in  a  prospect  so  instan 
taneously  awakens  the  idea  of  plenty,  and  of  the  benefi 
cence  of  nature.  Water  is,  therefore,  the  very  picture 
of  benevolence,  without  which  the  face  of  the  country 
would  seem  cold,  ungenerous,  and  barren. 

A  feeling  of  seclusion  is  one  of  the  agreeable  emo 
tions  connected  with  a  ramble  in  the  woods  ;  and  some 
delightful  spots  derive  their  principal  attractions  from 
their  evident  adaptedness  to  this  security  from  observa 
tion.  When  we  are  walking  either  alone  or  in  com 
pany,  we  do  not  like  to  be  met  by  others,  or  to  be 
observed  by  them.  A  little  sequestered  spot,  that  seems 
to  offer  all  this  desirable  shelter  from  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  is  always  singularly  attractive.  But  those  are 


262  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

the  most  eligible  retreats  in  which  one  might  be 
secluded,  and  at  the  same  time  accommodated  with  a 
pleasant  and  extensive  prospect.  To  be  able  to  look 
out  upon  the  world  from  a  little  nook,  while  unobserved 
and  not  liable  to  be  interrupted  by  others,  affords  one 
an  experience  of  the  same  emotion  with  which  we  con 
template  the  raging  of  a  storm,  from  a  place  of  comfort 
and  security. 

Water  is  in  a  high  degree  favorable  to  the  attain 
ment  of  these  pleasant  advantages.  Let  two  parties  be 
placed  in  opposite  points,  with  a  small  lake  intervening, 
and  though  full  in  sight  of  one  another,  they  still  feel 
secluded.  The  pleasantness  of  their  retreat,  under 
these  circumstances,  is  enlivened  by  the  sight  of  the 
opposite  party,  who  may  be  amused  by  observing  one 
another's  motions,  and  at  the  same  time  feel  secure 
from  intrusion.  But  if  there  were  only  a  meadow  of 
equal  width  to  separate  them,  the  secluded  character  of 
the  situation  would  be  lost ;  as  the  parties  are  not  only 
in  sight  of  one  another,  but  are  liable  to  be  interrupted 
by  a  visit  from  the  opposite  one.  A  lake  may  in  this 
way  be  the  occasion  of  many  of  those  delightful  re 
treats,  attended  with  advantages  of  prospect,  which  no 
other  combination  of  scenes  could  so  well  afford.  The 
beauty  of  many  of  these  situations  depends  greatly  on 
their  apparent  adaptedness  to  this  kind  of  recreation 
and  seclusion. 

A  river,  especially  of  moderate  width,  is  in  many 
respects  more  beautiful  than  a  lake  ;  and  more  than  any 
other  collection  of  water  suggests  the  idea  of  infinity 
and  of  continued  progression.  I  never  look  upon  a 
clear  stream  of  narrow  dimensions,  without  thinking  of 
the  thousand  beautiful  scenes  it  must  visit,  in  its  blue 
course  through  the  hills  and  plains.  What  a  life  of 


WATER    SCENERY.  263 

perpetual  delight  must  be  led  by  the  gentle  river  god 
dess,  as  she  is  wafted  up  and  down  the  stream  in  her 
shallop  of  reeds!  Now  coursing  along  under  banks 
sprinkled  all  over  with  honeysuckles,  while  their  fra 
grance  follows  the  current  of  the  stream,  to  entice  the 
bees  and  other  insects  to  their  fragrant  flower-cups ; 
then  passing  through  a  pleasant  forest  where  she  is  re 
galed  by  the  terebinthine  odor  of  pines  mingled  with 
that  of  flowering  lindens,  whose  branches  resound  all 
day  with  the  hum  of  insects  and  the  warbling  of  birds ; 
every  green  bank  offers  to  her  hand  a  profusion  of  wild 
strawberries,  and  every  rocky  declivity  hangs  its  bram 
bles  over  the  stream,  and  tempts  her  with  delicate  clus 
ters  of  raspberries,  and  other  delicious  fruits.  How, 
if  she  takes  pleasure  in  the  happiness  of  human  beings, 
must  she  be  charmed  by  witnessing  the  plenty  which  is 
everywhere  diffused  by  the  crystal  waters  of  her  own 
stream ;  the  countless  farms  rendered  fertile  and  pro 
ductive  though  its  agency ;  the  numerous  mill  seats 
that  derive  their  power  from  its  falls  and  rapids,  and 
gather  the  industrious  inhabitants  in  smiling  hamlets 
upon  its  banks!  A  river,  when  pursuing  its  winding 
course  along  the  plain,  alternately  appearing  and  dis 
appearing  among  the  hills  and  woods,  suggests  the  idea 
of  a  pleasant  journey,  and  is  peculiarly  emblematical  of 
human  progress.  It  always  seems  to  me  that  it  must 
conduct  one  to  some  happier  region,  and  that  if  I 
traced  it  to  its  source,  I  should  be  led  into  the  very 
temple  of  the  Naiads  ! 

With  the  different  forms  of  water  are  associated 
nearly  all  the  pleasant  images  of  rural  life.  To  one 
who  is  tired  of  his  busy  employments  in  the  city,  a 
rural  retreat  is  like  a  cool  breeze  to  the  traveller  in  a 
sultry  desert.  A  little  arbor,  that  overlooks  a  river,  a 


264  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

lake,  or  an  arm  of  the  sea,  derives  its  charms  almost 
wholly  from  the  water,  which  is  at  the  same  time  the 
symbol  of  peace  and  plenty,  and  the  mirror  of  heaven. 
A  hermitage  by  the  side  of  a  stream  affords  a  secret 
retreat,  still  more  delightful  from  its  fancied  association 
with  pious  seclusion  from  the  world.  Every  flower 
that  looks  up  to  us  from  the  green,  mossy  turf;  every 
bird  that  warbles  in  the  neighboring  copse,  and  every 
•insect  that  hums  in  the  herbage  at  our  feet,  has  a  sooth 
ing  influence,  that  for  a  season  dispels  every  care,  and 
every  feverish  excitement.  Then  do  we  feel  that  nature 
only  has  power  to  administer  that  solace  which  is  balm 
to  the  soul,  when  one  is  vexed  with  care  and  weary  of 
men. 

One  of  the  sentiments  often  awakened  by  a  water 
prospect,  is  that  of  sublimity.  But  this  can  only  arise 
from  an  extensive  view  of  the  ocean  or  of  a  cataract. 
Ordinarily,  therefore,  except  by  the  sea-shore,  we  sel 
dom  behold  a  sufficient  expanse  of  water  to  affect  us 
with  a  sentiment  of  grandeur.  This  influence  is  greater 
when  a  wide  sea-view  comes  suddenly  upon  the  eye, 
after  one  has  passed  through  a  succession  of  beautiful, 
quiet,  and  rather  confined  scenes.  Small  lakes  and 
rivers  greatly  enhance  the  beauty  of  a  pastoral  land 
scape,  because  they  afford  the  best  evidence  of  good 
pasturage  as  well  as  of  a  plentiful  supply  of  water  to 
the  flocks  and  grazing  herds.  Painters,  taking  advan 
tage  of  this  expression,  often  represent  in  one  of  their 
side  views,  the  cattle  standing  up  to  their  knees  in  a 
little  pond  of  water,  while  the  green  rushes  and  unde- 
faced  shrubbery  growing  about  them  make  manifest  its 
clearness  and  purity.  Ocean  scenery  is  not  favorable 
to  pastoral  expression ;  but  it  enhances  the  beauty  of 
sunrise,  and  adds  grandeur  to  the  sublimity  of  a  tempest. 


WATER   SCENERY.  265 

Many  writers  have  eulogized  an  ocean  prospect,  as 
beheld  from  a  point  where  we  can  see  no  land.  The 
views  presented  by  the  ocean,  from  different  points  on 
the  shore,  which  is  broken  and  intersected  by  frequent 
inlets  of  water,  we  can  never  cease  to  admire ;  but  I 
have  little  sympathy  with  these  lovers  of  boundless 
space.  The  eye  soon  tires  of  gazing  upon  a  scene  that 
awakens  no  other  emotion  but  that  of  infinity,  and  pre 
sents  no  point  as  a  resting-place  for  the  imagination. 
To  the  sublimity  of  an  ocean  voyage,  with  its  moun 
tainous  waves  and  its  interminable  azure,  I  prefer  a 
boat  excursion  on  a  narrow  stream,  where  the  trees  on 
the  opposite  banks  frequently  interlace  their  branches 
over  the  middle  of  the  current,  and  the  plashing  of  the 
oar  often  startles  the  little  twittering  sandpiper  that  is 
feeding  upon  the  edge  of  the  stream.  The  sight  of  a 
small  lake  surrounded  by  woods,  and  dotted  all  round 
its  borders  with  full-blown  water-lilies,  over  whose 
broadspread  leaves  the  little  plover  glides,  without  im 
pressing  a  ripple  on  the  glossy  brink,  gives  me  more 
pleasure  than  I  could  derive  from  any  view  of  the  ocean, 
bounded  only  by  the  horizon. 

Water  needs  the  accompaniment  of  field  and  wood 
to  form  a  picture  that  is  agreeable  to  the  eye.  With 
out  such  adjuncts,  it  is  like  the  sky  when  it  has  no 
clouds,  and  is  void  of  all  pleasing  suggestions.  The 
pleasure  of  angling  on  the  banks  of  a  river  or  a  lake, 
is  greatly  magnified  by  the  prospect  of  the  agreeable 
combination  of  wood  and  water  scenery  that  sur 
rounds  us.  The  beauty  of  an  island  is  like  that  of  a 
lake  ;  and  it  is  hard  to  say  which  of  the  two  affects  the 
spectator  with  the  most  delight,  though  I  am  inclined 
to  believe  that  the  majority  would  decide  in  favor  of 
the  island.  The  island,  especially  if  there  be  a  little 
23 


266  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

cottage  upon  it,  is  suggestive  of  a  multitude  of  pleas 
ing  fancies  connected  with  rural  life  and  retirement.  In 
this  case,  we  think  not  so  much  of  the  difficulty  of 
gaining  access  to  town,  or  even  of  coming  on  shore,  as 
of  the  peaceful  seclusion  it  seems  calculated  to  afford. 
The  lake  suggests  no  such  ideas  ;  it  is  chiefly  attractive 
by  its  own  beautiful  sheen  of  crystal  water,  by  its  as 
sociation  with  boat  excursions  on  serene  afternoons  or 
moonlight  evenings,  and  with  rural  pleasures  connected 
with  the  scenes  on  its  shore. 


XXXIV. 

NOVEMBER. 


A  CHANGE  has  lately  come  over  the  face  of  nature ; 
the  bright  garniture  of  the  woods  and  pastures  has 
faded;  the  fall  of  the  leaf  has  arrived,  and  the  sun 
gleams  brightly  through  the  naked  branches  of  the 
trees,  into  the  late  dark  recesses  of  the  forest.  In  some 
years  the  leaves  of  the  trees  remain  unseared  by  frost, 
until  November  has  tarried  with  us  many  days.  It  is 
then  melancholy  to  observe  the  complete  change,  that 
will  suddenly  take  place  in  the  aspect  of  the  woods, 
after  the  first  wintry  night.  The  longer  this  fatal  blast 
is  deferred,  the  more  sudden  and  manifest  are  its  effects. 
The  fields  to-day  may  be  glowing  in  the  fairest  hues  of 
autumnal  splendor.  One  night  passes  away ;  —  a  night 
of  still,  freezing  cold,  depositing  a  dense  and  beautiful 
frostwork  on  the  windows  —  and  lo !  a  complete  robe 
of  monotonous  brown  covers  the  wide  forest,  and  all  its 
variegated  colors  have  vanished.  After  this  frost,  the 
leaves  fall  rapidly  from  the  trees ;  and  the  first  vigorous 
wind  will  completely  disrobe  them  of  their  foliage. 

This  change,  however,  is  usually  more  gradual. 
Slight  frosts  occur,  one  after  another,  during  many 
successive  nights,  each  adding  a  browner  tint  to  the 


268  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

foliage,  and  causing  the  different  trees  to  shed  their 
leaves  in  natural  succession.  Though  November  is  the 
time  of  the  true  fall  of  the  leaf,  yet  many  trees  cast  off 
their  vesture  in  October ;  but  some  of  the  oaks  usually 
retain  their  brown,  rustling  foliage  during  the  whole  of 
the  winter ;  and  many  are  the  birds  that  find  beneath 
them  a  comfortable  shelter  from  the  storm.  The  wil 
lows  and  many  of  the  fruit-trees  retain  their  verdure 
to  a  late  period  in  the  autumn,  and  shed  their  leaves 
only  upon  the  arrival  of  winter.  In  the  low  grounds, 
there  is  little  foliage  to  be  seen  after  the  middle  of  Oc 
tober.  At  that  time,  if  we  stand  on  a  moderate  eleva 
tion,  commanding  a  view  of  hill,  valley,  and  plain,  we 
may  observe  the  naked  and  desolate  aspect  of  winter 
in  the  swamps,  where  the  frosts  make  their  earliest  visit; 
while  on  the  uplands  and  hill-sides,  the  woods  are  still 
in  almost  full  foliage. 

The  flowering  season  closed  with  the  last  month  ;  yet 
sometimes  after  a  spell  of  mild  weather,  especially  after 
a  drought,  a  few  spring  flowers  will  appear,  and  we  ob 
serve  a  second  blossoming  of  some  of  the  boughs  in 
^the  orchards.  A  few  asters  are  still  seen  in  the  woods, 
and  here  and  there,  on  the  green  southern  slopes,  a  vio 
let  looks  upon  you  with  its  mild  blue  eye,  like  a  star  of 
promise,  to  remind  us  of  the  beauties  of  the  next  re 
viving  spring.  There  is  a  kind  of  melancholy  pleasure 
attending  a  ramble  at  this  time,  among  the  fading 
woods  and  pastures,  while  we  take  notice  of  the 
changes  of  the  season,  and  of  the  care  with  which 
nature  provides  for  the  preservation  of  her  charge,  dur 
ing  the  coming  season  of  cold.  All  sounds  that  meet 
the  ear  are  in  harmony  with  our  feelings.  The  breezes 
murmur  with  a  plaintive  moan,  while  shaking  the  drop 
ping  leaves  from  the  trees,  as  if  they  felt  a  sympathy 


NOVEMBER.  269 

with  the  general  decay ;  and  carefully  strew  them  over 
the  beds  of  the  flowers,  to  afford  them  a  warm  covering 
and  protection  from  the  ungenial  winter.  The  sere  and 
yellow  leaves,  eddying  with  the  fitful  breezes,  fill  up  the 
hollows  of  the  pastures,  where  the  slumbering  lilies  and 
violets  repose,  and  collect  around  the  borders  of  the 
woods,  where  the  vernal  flowers  are  sleeping,  and  re 
quire  their  warmth  and  protection.  Thus  nature 
kindly  guards  the  objects  of  her  charge,  from  the  evils 
to  which  they  are  inevitably  exposed,  affording  an 
emblem  of  that  providential  care,  which,  though  un 
seen,  is  always  extended  over  us,  to  protect  us  from 
those  evils  which  misfortune  or  our  own  improvidence 
may  have  created. 

As  the  month  advances,  the  hoary  aspect  of  winter 
becomes  more  and  more  apparent  over  the  face  of  the 
landscape.  The  scarlet  berries  of  the  rose  and  the 
prinos  are  conspicuous  upon  their  leafless  stems,  and 
the  nests  of  birds,  hitherto  concealed,  are  disclosed  to 
observation  by  the  absence  of  the  foliage.  The  brown 
fruit  of  the  hazel  is  bending  from  its  naked  branches, 
and  the  prickly  globes  of  the  chestnut  are  scattered 
abundantly  beneath  its  lofty  boughs.  The  asters, 
golden-rods,  and  other  autumnal  flowers,  which  a  month 
since  were  in  all  their  splendor,  now  cover  the  plains 
with  a  kind  of  hoary  plumage,  consisting  of  globular 
heads  of  down,  into  which  they  have  been  transformed. 
These  downy  wreaths  are  hardly  less  elegant  than  the 
flowers,  and  form  one  of  the  most  interesting  appear 
ances  of  the  landscape  at  the  present  time.  The 
plumed  seeds  of  the  thistle  are  sailing  upon  the  wind, 
and  the  feathery  tassels  of  the  clematis  are  hanging 
from  the  vines,  making  a  warm  shelter  for  the  birds  in 
their  time  of  need. 

23* 


270  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

There  are  rural  sounds  as  well  as  rural  sights  which 
are  characteristic  of  this  and  every  other  month  of  the 
year.  The  piping  of  the  frogs  in  spring,  the  warbling 
of  birds  in  the  early  summer,  and  the  chirping  of  insects 
in  the  latter  summer  and  the  early  autumn,  are  all  asso 
ciated  with  the  beauties  and  the  bounties  of  their  re 
spective  seasons.  The  chirping  of  insects  declines  dur 
ing  October,  and  dies  away  to  silence  by  the  middle  of 
the  present  month  ;  and  then  do  the  voices  of  the 
winter  birds  become  more  audible  in  their  woodland 
solitudes.  Their  harsh,  unmusical  voices  harmonize 
not  unpleasantly  with  the  murmuring  of  wintry  winds, 
and  with  the  desolate  appearance  of  nature.  The 
water  birds  assemble  in  large  flocks  upon  the  lakes  and 
in  the  harbors,  and  become  peculiarly  loquacious ;  and 
pccasionally  on  still  evenings,  we  hear  the  cackling 
flight  of  geese,  as  they  are  proceeding  aloft  in  the 
heavens  to  the  places  of  their  hyemal  abode.  These 
different  sounds,  though  unmusical  and  melancholy, 
awaken  many  pleasing  recollections  of  past  years,  and 
are  not  unattended  with  emotions  of  tranquillizing 
pleasure. 

No  person,  who  visits  the  fields  at  the  present  time, 
can  fail  to  perceive  the  change  that  has  taken  place  in 
the  perfumes  of  the  air,  since  the  leaves  began  to  fall. 
There  is  no  fragrance  of  blooming  gardens,  of  flowering 
meads,  or  sweet-scented  groves.  The  very  grass,  if  per 
chance  a  late  crop  has  been  mowed  by  the  husbandman, 
sends  out  a  different  fragrance  from  that  of  haying-time. 
The  flowers  of  autumn  are  generally  almost  scentless  ; 
but  there  is  a  pleasant  odor  arising  from  the  fallen 
leaves,  when  the  sun  is  drying  up  the  frost,  which  the 
preceding  night  had  deposited  on  them,  unlike  any 
thing  else  in  nature.  We  perceive  also  the  scents  of 


NOVEMBER.  271 

withering  maize,  and  other  fading  crops  of  the  harvest, 
which  are  wafted  on  the  gales,  as  they  traverse  over  the 
fertile  farms.  It  is  difficult  to  describe  a  perfume  ;  yet 
every  one  who  is  familiar  with  nature,  might  easily,  by 
the  fragrance  of  the  atmosphere  alone,  determine  the 
month  of  the  year.  Though  the  sweetness  of  summer 
is  gone,  there  is  a  perfume  on  the  breeze  that  tells  of 
the  gathered  harvest,  and  speaks  of  plenteousness  for  the 
time  to  come. 

A  comparative  silence  now  prevails  in  the  woods,  so 
lately  vocal  with  melody.  The  birds  that  long  since 
discontinued  their  songs,  have  forsaken  our  territories, 
and  are  neither  to  be  heard  nor  seen.  The  grasshoppers 
have  hung  their  harps  upon  the  brown  sedges,  and 
they  themselves  are  buried  in  a  torpid  sleep.  The 
butterflies  also  have  perished  with  the  flowers,  and  the 
whole  tribe  of  sportive  insects,  that  enlivened  the  pros 
pect  with  their  rapid  motions,  have  gone  from  our  sight. 
Few  sounds  are  heard  on  still  days,  save  the  dropping 
of  nuts,  the  rustling  of  leaves,  and  the  careering  of  the 
occasional  fitful  breezes  that  spring  up  amidst  the  gen 
eral  calm.  Beautiful  sights  and  sounds  have  vanished 
together,  and  the  rambler  who  goes  out  to  greet  the 
cheerful  objects  of  nature,  finds  himself  alone,  com 
muning  only  with  silence  and  decay.  It  is  on  the 
pleasant  days  of  November,  that  we  most  fully  realize 
how  much  of  the  pleasure  of  a  rural  excursion  is  de 
rived  from  the  melodies,  that  greet  our  ears  during  the 
vocal  season  of  the  year.  Since  the  merrymaking 
tenants  of  the  grove  have  left  them  to  silence  and  soli 
tude,  nature  seems  divested  of  a  portion  of  life  and 
personality.  While  apart  from  all  sounds  of  rejoicing 
and  animation,  we  seem  to  be  in  the  presence  of  friends, 
who  are  silent  with  mourning  over  some  dismal  bereave- 


272  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

ments.  In  the  vocal  season,  the  merry  voices  of  birds 
and  insects  yield  life  to  the  inanimate  objects  around 
us,  and  nature  herself  seems  to  be  talking  with  us,  in 
our  solitary  but  not  lonely  walk.  But  when  these  gay 
and  social  creatures  are  absent,  our  once  companionable 
excursions  are  converted  into  actual  solitude.  No  cheer 
ful  voices  are  speaking  to  us ;  no  bright  flowers  are 
smiling  upon  us,  and  we  feel  like  one  who  is  left  alone 
in  the  world,  to  muse  over  the  scenes  of  departed  joys 
and  absent  friends. 

But  the  silence  to  which  I  have  alluded  is  chiefly 
that  of  the  singing  birds,  whose  voices  are  the  natural 
language  of  love  and  rejoicing.  There  are  still  many 
sounds  abroad  which  are  characteristic  of  the  season. 
Hollow  winds  are  sighing  through  the  half  leafless 
wood,  and  the  sharp  rustling  of  the  dry  oak  leaves  is 
heard  aloft  in  the  place  of  the  warbling  of  birds  and  the 
soft  whispering  of  zephyrs.  The  winds  as  they  sweep 
over  the  shrubbery  produce  a  shrill  sound,  that  chills  us 
in  imagination,  as  the  bleak  foreboding  of  winter.  The 
passing  breezes  have  lost  that  mellowness  of  tone  that 
comes  from  them  in  summer,  while  floating  over  the 
tender  herbs  and  flexible  grain.  Every  sound  they  now 
produce  is  sharper,  whether  they  are  rustling  among  the 
dry  cornfields,  or  whistling  among  the  naked  branches 
of  the  trees.  Since  the  forests  have  shed  their  leaves, 
the  voices  of  the  remaining  birds  are  heard  with  more 
distinctness,  and  the  woodland  echoes  are  repeated, 
with  a  greater  number  of  reverberations,  among  the 
rocks  and  hills. 

Our  rural  festivities  are  passed,  the  harvest  is  gathered, 
and  all  hands  are  busy  in  preparing  for  the  comforts  of 
the  winter  fireside.  The  days  are  shortened  and  the 
sun  at  noonday  looks  down  upon  us  with  a  slanting 


NOVEMBER.  273 

beam  and  diminished  fervor,  or  remains  behind  the 
misty  veil  that  overshadows  the  earth.  Dark  clouds  of 
ominous  forms  and  threatening  look,  brood  sometimes 
for  whole  days  over  the  sullen  atmosphere,  through 
which  the  struggling  beams  of  the  sun  will  occasionally 
peer,  with  a  smile  of  complacency,  that  seems  to  bid  us 
not  wholly  despair  of  his  benignant  presence.  Every 
.object  in  the  rural  world  tells  of  the  coming  of  snows,, 
and  of  the  rapid  passing  of  the  genial  days  of  autumn.. 
The  evergreens  are  the  only  lively  objects  that  grace  the 
landscape;  and  the  flowers  lie  buried  under  the  faded 
leaves  of  the  lately  beautiful  forests,  that  now  lift  up 
their  naked  branches,  as  if  in  supplication  to  the  skies. 
The  spirit  of  autumnal  desolation  sits  upon  the  hills ; 
and  in  her  baleful  presence,  the  northern  blasts  assem 
ble  upon  the  plains,  and  the  wintry  frosts  gather  together 
in  the  once  smiling  valleys. 

Such  are  the  changes  of  the  seasons ;  melancholy 
emblems  of  the  vicissitudes  of  life.  Transient  is  the 
period  of  youth,  like  the  blooming  month  of  May ;  and 
rapidly,  like  the  flowers  of  summer,  fade  all  the  joys  of 
early  manhood.  Our  early  hopes,  after  they  have 
finished  their  songs  of  promise,  vanish  like  the  warbling 
birds ;  and  the  visions  of  our  youthful  fancy,  flit  away 
like  the  insects  that  glitter  for  a  few  brief  days,  and 
then  perish  for  ever.  Yet  as  the  pleasant  things'  of 
one  month  are  followed  by  those  equally  delightful  in. 
the  next  that  arrives  —  so  are  the  joys  of  youth  that 
perish,  succeeded  by  the  riper,  though  less  exhilarating 
pleasures  of  manhood.  These,  in  their  turn,  are  lost, 
but  to  be  replaced  by  the  tranquil  and  sober  comforts 
of  age,  as  the  autumnal  harvest  crowns  the  luxurious 
enjoyments  of  summer.  Joys  are  constantly  alternat 
ing  with  sorrows;  and  the  regrets  we  pour  over  our 


274  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

bereavements  are  softened  and  subdued  by  the  new 
bounties  and  blessings  of  the  present  season.  While 
we  are  lamenting  the  departure  of  one  beautiful  month, 
another,  no  less  delightful,  has  already  arrived  ;  and  the 
winters  of  our  sorrow  are  always  succeeded  by  vernal 
periods  of  enjoyment. 

Though  we  are  accustomed  to  regret  the  lapse  of 
summer,  and  to  dread  the  coming  of  winter,  there  is  a 
providential  wisdom  in  these  revolutions  of  the  seasons; 
and  although  our  enjoyments  are  greater  in  the  balmy 
summer-time,  than  during  any  other  period,  yet  their 
average  is  greater  than  it  would  be  if  this  delightful 
season  were  to  remain  with  us  throughout  the  year. 
There  is  an  influence  breathing  from  all  nature  in  the 
autumn  that  leads  one  to  reflect  on  the  charms  of  the 
seasons  that  have  flown,  and  prepares  us  by  the  regret 
thus  awakened  to  realize  their  full  worth,  and  to 
experience,  the  greater  rapture,  when  we  meet  them 
once  more. 

But  to  the  man  who  contemplates  the  works  of  na 
ture  with  a  philosophic  eye,  still  more  to  the  poet  and 
the  moralist,  do  these  changes  and  vicissitudes  yield 
sources  of  never-ending  pleasure.  They  afford  him 
that  tranquil  and  untiring  amusement,  which  is  derived 
from  watching  the  growth  of  the  fields,  through  all  its 
gradations,  from  the  seed  to  the  flower,  from  the  tender 
bud  to  the  leaf,  and  from  the  seedling  to  the  perfect 
plant.  The  budding  of  the  trees,  the  gradual  expan 
sion  of  their  leaves,  and  all  the  changes  through  which 
they  pass,  until  their  final  decay,  present  unfailing 
topics  of  curious  and  pleasing  meditation.  In  every 
change  that  happens,  he  discovers  a  new  fund  of  reflec 
tions,  on  the  grandeur  and  harmony  of  nature's  works. 
Even  the  melancholy  which  the  man  of  feeling  experi- 


NOVEMBER.  275 

ences  in  autumn,  differs  from  despondency,  and  par 
takes  of  the  character  of  positive  pleasure.  Notwith 
standing  our  lamentations  over  the  departure  of  flowers 
and  the  coming  of  snows,  there  would  be  a  monotony 
in  a  perpetual  summer,  which  would  soon  be  followed 
by  indifference ;  and  then  amidst  all  the  beauties  and 
blessings  of  nature,  our  hearts  would  be  cloyed  with 
luxurious  enjoyments,  and  sighing  after  unattainable 
happiness. 


XXXV. 

THE    FALL    OF    THE    LEAF. 


THE  two  most  interesting  periods  to  one  who  is  in 
the  habit  of  associating  some  agreeable  sentiment  with 
the  phases  of  nature,  occur  when  the  trees  are  putting 
forth  their  tender  leaves  and  flowers  in  the  opening  of 
the  year,  and  when  they  are  assuming  the  variegated 
hues  that  precede  the  fall  of  the  leaf.  Hence  the  spring 
and  the  autumn  have  always  been  regarded  as  pre 
eminently  the  two  poetical  seasons  —  the  one  emblem- 
izing  the  period  of  youth,  the  other  that  of  old  age. 
But  to  the  eye  of  the  painter  as  well  as  the  poet  do 
these  two  seasons  offer  the  greatest  attractions.  In  the 
spring,  while  the  leaves  are  bursting  from  their  hiberna- 
cles,  and  unfolding  their  plaited  forms,  they  exhibit  a 
great  variety  of  tints,  which  are  constantly  changing 
with  the  progress  of  their  development.  In  autumn, 
during  a  space  of  about  two  weeks,  they  pass  through 
another  succession  of  hues  ;  and  this  change,  connected 
with  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  has  given  rise  to  many  pleas 
ing  sentiments,  which  have  been  woven  into  the  poetry 
of  all  nations.  It  is  a  common  fallacy  to  regard  those 
objects  as  the  most  picturesque  which  have  the  least 
positive  beauty ;  but  landscape-painters,  actuated  by  a 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF.  277 

different  opinion,  have,  for  the  purpose  of  adding  a  pic 
turesque  charm  to  the  scenes  they  portray,  most  fre 
quently  chosen  the  autumn  for  their  representations, 
and  given  to  their  trees  the  beautiful  tints  of  the  declin 
ing  year. 

If  we  would  learn  the  full  comparative  value  of  trees, 
as  ornamental  objects,  it  is  necessary  to  study  them 
under  the  different  aspects  they  assume,  during  each  of 
the  four  seasons.  They  should  be  observed  in  May 
and  June,  when  they  are  putting  forth  their  leaves  and 
blossoms;  in  July  and  August,  when  they  have  com 
pleted  the  growth  and  maturity  of  their  foliage ;  in. 
October,  when  they  are  hung  with  fruits,  and  are  as 
suming  the  tints  that  precede  their  decay ;  and  lastly, 
in  December  and  later,  when  they  appear  in  their 
denuded  state,  and  have  lost  all  their  beauty,  except 
that  of  the  forms  and  arrangements  of  their  branches. 
Under  each  of  these  aspects,  they  are  a  study  which 
cannot  fail  to  reward  the  observer,  by  affording  him 
many  new  ideas,  which  will  assist  him  in  comprehend 
ing  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  vegetable  forms  and 
colors. 

The  season  of  the  fall  of  the  leaf  commences,  in- 
general,  about  the  twentieth  of  September,  and  varying 
with  the  character  of  the  weather,  continues  until  near 
the  third  week  in  November.  It  occupies  a  space  of 
about  two  months,  and  may  be  divided  into  three 
periods.  The  first  includes  the  time  between  the- 
twentieth  of  September  and  the  middle  of  the  next 
month,  when  the  maple,  the  ash,  the  tupelo,  the  cree 
per,  the  hickory,  the  beech,  and  the  chestnut  are  in, 
their  full  splendor.  During  this  period  the  yellow, 
orange,  and  scarlet  hues  predominate  in  the  tints  of  the- 
foliage.  The  second  period  occupies  a  space  of  about. 

24 


278  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

two  weeks  from  the  end  of  the  first,  when  the  oaks 
have  fully  ripened  their  tints,  and  many  of  the  trees 
just  named  have  become  leafless.  This  period  is  re 
markable  for  a  predominance  of  red,  crimson,  and  pur 
ple  hues  in  the  color  of  the  foliage ;  and  it  lasts  until 
about  the  seventh  or  tenth  of  November.  The  third 
period  commences  with  a  succession  of  severe  frosts, 
that  destroy  all  the  remaining  tints  of  the  forest,  and 
change  them  into  one  uniform  and  monotonous  brown. 
This  period  may  be  said  to  terminate  with  the  early 
snows  of  winter,  and  is  remarkable,  in  some  years,  for 
a  series  of  warm  days  which  have  been  called  the 
Indian  Summer. 

All  those  who  are  accustomed  to  note  the  successive 
changes  in  the  face  of  nature,  must  have  observed  that 
the  different  species  of  trees  and  shrubs  lose  their  leaves 
at  different  dates  in  the  autumn,  some  being  entirely 
denuded,  while  others  hardly  exhibit  .any  change  in  their 
foliage.  It  may  be  further  remarked  that  some  species 
preserve  their  verdure  until  their  leaves  drop  to  the 
ground ;  among  which  we  may  class  a  great  proportion 
of  exotic  trees  and  shrubs.  Others  roll  up  their  leaves 
into  a  crisp  before  their  fall,  like  the  most  of  the  her 
baceous  plants,  without  materially  changing  their  color 
except  byNfading.  Such  are  the  locust,  and  some  of  the 
fruit-trees.  The  leaves  of  a  third  class,  without  wilt 
ing  or  withering,  change  from  green  to  some  brilliant 
color,  and  make  their  beauty  the  harbinger  of  their 
decay.  The  greater  number  of  the  trees  and  shrubs 
belonging  to  the  United  States,,  are  of  this  last  descrip 
tion. 

Those  trees  in  general  that  exhibit  the  earliest  and 
brightest  tints,  are  the  first  to  lose  their  leaves.  This  is 
observable  especially  in  the  maples,  whose  tints  of  yel- 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF.  279 

low,  orange,  red,  crimson,  and  purple  are  conspicuous, 
while  the  leaves  of  most  other  species  are  still  green. 
No  sooner  have  other  trees  universally  assumed 
their  autumnal  hues,  than  the  maples  have  mostly 
become  leafless.  While  the  latter  are  still  wearing  their 
gayest  robes  we  may  observe  the  hues  of  yellow, 
orange,  and  brown  of  the  common  American  elms. 
The  tints  of  the  elm  are  neither  so  brilliant  nor  so  vari 
ous  as  those  of  the  maple.  They  consist  only  of  a  few 
shades  of  brown  and  yellow,  which  partake  of  the  want 
of  brilliancy  that  characterizes  the  verdure  of  the  same 
tree.  It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  while  these  trees  are 
thus  gleaming  with  gold,  the  English  elm  still  retains 
the  greenness  of  its  foliage  almost  as  pure  as  in  sum 
mer.  The  same  difference  may  be  observed  between 
the  greater  part  of  the  indigenous  trees  of  America, 
and  those  of  England  and  the  continent  of  Europe. 

This  habit  of  European  trees  has  led  many  persons 
to  prefer  them  for  ornamental  purposes,  to  their  kindred 
American  species.  A  few  additional  weeks  of  verdure 
in  the  foliage  of  our  trees,  though  it  would  not  retard 
the  approaching  cold,  would  be  a  prolongation  of  one 
of  the  -pleasant  advantages  of  summer.  But  it  ought 
not  to  be  overlooked,  that  if  the  American  trees  do  not 
continue  in  leaf  so  long  as  those  of  Europe,  they 
greatly  exceed  them  in  brilliancy  and  variety  of  their 
autumnal  hues.  Should  we,  therefore,  substitute  foreign 
trees  with  their  prolonged  verdure,  for  our  indigenous 
trees,  with  their  early  fading  leaf,  we  should  have 
autumn  without  its  present  charms.  Nature,  in  the  fall, 
would  then  resemble  an  old  man  without  those  silvery 
hairs,  which  are  the  crowning  ornament  of  his  years. 

Among  our  trees  the  maples  exhibit  the  greatest 
variety  in  their  tints.  Of  different  individuals  of  the 


STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

same  species,  even  when  growing,  side  by  side,  in  the 
same  situation,  not  unfrequently  some  will  have  foliage 
of  a  bright  yellow,  others  of  vermilion,  some  of  scarlet 
and  crimson,  while  others  still  retain  their  summer  ver 
dure.  In  this  respect  the  maples  differ  from  other  trees, 
of  which  individuals  of  the  same  species  seldom  greatly 
differ  in  their  tints.  Notwithstanding,  therefore,  the 
rapidity  with  which  they  lose  their  foliage,  these  trees 
are  the  principal  charm  of  our  woods,  during  the  first 
autumnal  period.  The  ash  succeeds  the  maple  in  the 
ripeness  of  its  hues  and  the  fall  of  its  leaves.  The 
American  poplars  lose  their  leaves  about  the  same 
time  ;  but  their  tints,  though  more  brilliant  than  those 
of  the  ash,  are  confined  to  the  lighter  shades  of  yellow. 
The  birch,  the  beech,  the  chestnut,  and  the  hickory,  all 
of  which  are  clad,  with  more  or  less  brilliancy,  in  yel 
lows,  succeed  the  poplar.  Similar  hues  predominate  in 
the  lime,  the  larch,  the  cherry,  and  the  wych-hazel. 

But  there  are  several  species  in  which  the  different 
shades  of  red  and  purple  prevail.  Among  these  may 
be  named  the  swamp  hornbeam,  or  tupelo,  which  is  one 
of  the  most  brilliantly  illuminated  trees  in  our  woods. 
In  the  shade  its  leaves  are  of  a  bright  orange ;  but 
when  exposed  to  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun,  they  vary 
from  vermilion  to  scarlet,  seldom,  I  believe,  approach 
ing  to  purple.  Like  other  brightly  tinted  foliage,  that 
of  the  hornbeam  falls  early  in  the  season,  seldom 
remaining  above  a  week  in  its  full  splendor.  While 
the  yellow  tints  predominate  in  the  trees,  the  reds  and 
crimsons  predominate  in  the  shrubbery.  Conspicuous 
among  these  are  all  the  species  of  the  blueberry  and 
whortleberry  tribe,  that  yield  a  fairy-like  splendor  to  our 
wild  upland  pastures.  Equally  beautiful  and  more  bril 
liant  are  the  leaves  of  the  common  creeper,  that  often 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF.  281 

covers  whole  trees  in  our  woods,  mingling  its  pure  scar 
let  with  the  different  colors  of  the  tree  that  supports  it. 
The  most  of  the  sumachs  exhibit  a  predominance  of 
purple  in  the  hues  of  their  foliage,  mixed  with  their 
original  verdure.  The  viburnums  and  cornels  are  like 
wise  variously  shaded  with  purple  and  crimson. 

The  preceding  remarks  present  an  imperfect  sketch 
of  the  appearance  of  autumnal  foliage,  during  the  first 
period  of  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  when  the  yellow  and  scar 
let  hues  are  the  prevailing  ones  in  our  woodland  scen 
ery.  During  the  second  period,  very  few  of  the  yellows 
are  to  be  seen,  if  we  except  the  yellowish  green  tints  of 
the  different  species  of  willow.  The  oaks  are  the  glory 
of  the  second  period,  and  are  remarkable  for  the  long 
duration  of  their  beauty.  Though  their  hues  are  neither 
so  brilliant^  nor  so  variegated  as  those  of  the  maples, 
yet  they  are  at  this  time  almost  the  only  deciduous 
trees,  of  indigenous  growth,  that  remain  in  foliage. 
Long  after  the  remainder  of  the  wood  is  leafless,  except 
the  evergreens,  the  brown,  gray,  chocolate,  crimson,  and 
purple  tints  of  the  different  species  of  the  oak  lend  a 
charm  to  the  forests  which  cannot  be  surpassed.  The 
foliage  of  the  oaks  during  summer  is  not  exceeded  in  its 
finely  indented  forms,  in  the  pure  lustre  of  its  surface, 
in  its  firmness,  without  any  deficiency  of  tremulous 
motion,  and  may  be  said  to  combine  a  greater  variety 
of  those  qualities  that  affect  the  mind  with  agreeable 
sensations,  than  that  of  any  other  tree.  It  is  likewise 
remarkably  tenacious  of  its  hold  on  the  branches,  where 
it  often  remains  until  the  opening  of  spring.  Hence 
the  rustling  of  the  dry  oak  leaf  always  pleasantly 
reminds  one  of  the  appearances  of  nature,  during  her 
season  of  rest,  and  of  our  winter  walks  in  the  forest. 

Among  the  shrubs  that  retain  their  leaves  during  the 
24* 


282  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

second  period,  are  the  wild  rose,  the  gooseberry,  the 
barberry,  the  sweet  gale,  and  a  few  others.  Of  our 
fruit-trees,  the  pear,  which  exhibits  several  tints  varying 
from  yellow  to  red,  intermixed  with  a  larger  proportion 
of  green  leaves,  loses  its  foliage,  during  the  first  period 
of  autumn,  ten  days  or  a  fortnight  before  the  apple-tree. 
The  great  majority  of  fruit-trees  retain  their  leaves  till 
near  the  middle  of  November,  and  exhibit  only  a  slight 
mixture  of  tints.  In  general,  our  orchards  continue  in 
leaf  to  a  later  date  than  our  forests.  This  difference 
may  be  attributed  to  the  foreign  origin  of  our  common 
fruit-trees. 

In  the  plains  and  lowlands,  some  of  the  most  prom 
inent  objects,  during  the  second  period,  are  the  willows 
of  different  species.  These  trees  preserve  their  leaves 
and  their  verdure  very  late  in  the  season,  fading  only  to 
a  light  yellowish  green  before  they  fall.  The  weeping- 
willow,  which  was  originally  brought  from  the  south  of 
Europe,  retains  the  greenness  of  its  foliage  till  the  late 
frosts  of  November  destroys  it.  There  is  no  tree  in  our 
climate  except  the  evergreens,  that  preserves  its  verdure 
so  many  weeks,  putting  out  its  leaves  very  early  in 
spring  and  retaining  them  until  all  other  trees  are 
denuded.  This  habit  of  the  tree  makes  a  pleasant  com 
pensation  for  its  almost  entire  want  of  those  fine  tinges 
which  are  the  glory  of  other  trees  that  have  a  more 
short-lived  foliage.  And  when,  amidst  the  general 
nakedness  of  the  groves,  we  behold  the  drooping 
branches  of  the  weeping-willow,  waving  majestically 
in  the  wind,  with  its  noble  form  and  foliage  still  un 
changed  by  frost  or  by  natural  decay,  it  seems  like 
something  protected  by  enchantment. 

The  continued  greenness  of  foreign  trees,  and  their 
habit  of  retaining  their  foliage  to  a  later  period  than 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF.  283 

our  indigenous  species,  is  also  remarkable  in  the  Italian 
poplar  and  the  privet,  whose  leaves  seem  to  be  hardly 
susceptible  of  injury  from  the  frost.  It  might  be  in 
ferred  that  trees  and  shrubs  which  were  brought  from 
climates  warmer  than  our  own  would  be  more  suscep 
tible  of  injury  from  our  autumnal  frosts.  So  far  is  this 
from  the  fact,  that  their  foliage  is  evidently  more  hardy 
than  that  of  our  indigenous  species.  It  may  be  ex 
plained  by  supposing  that  the  leaves  of  a  plant  from 
a  more  southern  latitude,  or  from  a  country,  like  Eng 
land,  with  a  longer  growing  season,  require  a  longer 
time  to  arrive  at  maturity,  and  that  their  power  of  resist 
ing  frost  consists  in  their  greater  vitality.  On  the  same 
principle  we  may  explain  the  fact  very  commonly 
observed,  that  a  second  growth  of  leaves,  sometimes 
put  forth  after  the  first  growth  has  been  completed,  has 
a  remarkable  power  of  resisting  the  action  of  frost. 
Whatever  may  be  the  explanation,  it  is  true  that  the 
early  frosts  of  autumn,  that  cause  the  leaves  of  many 
of  our  indigenous  trees  to  drop  to  the  ground,  produce 
no  visible  effect  on  some  of  the  exotics ;  nor  do  the 
intense  rays  of  an  American  sun  color  them  as  they  do 
the  leaves  of  our  own  trees. 

The  beautiful  tints  of  autumnal  foliage  are  not  cor 
rectly  attributed  to  the  action  of  frost.  Neither  are 
they  the  effect  of  the  maturity,  but  rather  of  the  old 
age  of  the  leaf;  and  they  may  often  be  observed  as 
early  as  August  in  those  trees  which  are  in  a  declining 
state  of  health.  While  passing  by  the  Salem  common 
during  the  second  week  in  August,  (1854,)  I  observed  a 
maple  in  its  full  autumnal  drapery  of  crimson.  On 
examining  it  I  found  that  the  tree  had  been  nearly 
girdled.  The  wound  had  been  healed,  and  left  only  a 
narrow  strip  of  bark,  about  three  inches  in  width  to 


284  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

sustain  the  whole  plant.  This  might  have  been  suffi 
cient  for  that  purpose,  during  a  moist  summer ;  but  on 
account  of  the  drought  of  the  preceding  July,  it  failed 
to  supply  the  tree  with  sustenance,  and  a  premature  old 
age  of  the  leaf  and  its  accompanying  tints  were  the 
consequence.  A  severe  frost  at  that  early  date  would 
have  produced  no  such  effect.  An  early  frost  always 
injures  these  tints  by  searing  and  imbrowning  the 
leaves  which  are  exposed  to  it.  This  effect  was  noticed 
in  the  autumn  of  1853  when  the  leaves  that  ripened 
later  than  usual,  on  account  of  long-continued  rains  in 
the  latter  part  of  summer,  were  overtaken  by  two  very 
severe  frosts,  before  they  had  begun  to  be  tinted.  In 
October,  the  effects  of  these  frosts  were  apparent  in  a 
brownish  tinge  on  the  outer  surface  of  the  trees,  greatly 
impairing  the  lustre  of  their  tints,  which  were  not  so 
brilliant  as  usual. 

The  cause  of  the  superior  beauty  of  our  autumnal 
hues,  compared  with  those  of  Europe,  is  undoubtedly 
the  greater  intensity  of  the  sun's  rays  and  the  greater 
proportion  of  clear  and  dry  weather  in  America,  caus 
ing. the  leaves  to  arrive  sooner  to  maturity  and  old  age. 
As  these  influences  do  not  act  in  the  same  way  upon 
European  trees  when  introduced  into  this  country,  it 
would  be  important  to  note  whether  American  trees 
preserve  their  peculiar  habit  when  transplanted  to 
European  soils.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that,  while 
these  tints  are  attributable  to  the  influence  of  our  hot 
summers  and  clear  skies,  the  habit  was  acquired  with 
the.  origin  of  the  species  countless  ages  back,  like  the 
black  skin  of  the  negro,  and  that  it  is  now  beyond  any 
such  climatal  influence.  Though  it  might  have  owed 
its  origin  to  this  peculiarity  of  our  climate,  the  habit  is 
now  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the  species.  In  all 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF.  285 

cases  the  leaf  becomes  tinted  only  when  it  has  lost  a 
certain  portion  of  its  vitality,  and  just  before  it  is  ready 
to  fall  from  the  tree. 

The  pines  are  not  classed  with  deciduous  trees  ;  yet 
they  shed  their  leaves  in  autumn  as  regularly  as  the 
latter.  Late  in  October  you  may  observe  the  yellow 
foliage  which  is  ready  to  fall,  surrounding  the  last  year's 
growth  of  the  branches,  and  exhibiting  a  curious  inter 
mixture  of  yellow  with  the  green  growth  of  the  last 
summer.  These  leaves  always  turn  yellow  before  they 
fall ;  you  never  find  the  green  leaves  of  a  pine-tree,  as 
you  do  of  many  other  trees,  mixed  with  the  other  foli 
age  upon  the  ground.  The  same  fact  may  be  noticed 
of  the  oaks. 

As  late  as  the  second  week  in  November  we  can  sel 
dom  find  one  of  our  indigenous  trees  with  any  green 
leaves  upon  it,  unless  it  be  a  young. tree,  under  the  pro 
tection  of  woods.  The  third  period  has  now  com 
menced  ;  and  the  fall  of  the  leaf  is  nearly  completed. 
The  oaks,  though  not  entirely  stript  of  their  leafy 
honors,  have  lost  the  beauty  of  their  hues,  and  bear 
their  heads  less  proudly  among  the  leafless  tenants  of 
the  forest.  The  grass  already  exhibits  a  seared  and 
brown  appearance,  and  is  becoming  tasteless  to  the 
flocks.  A  few  asters  may  still  be  seen,  a  golden-rod  in 
damp  places,  an  occasional  solitary  coreopsis  in  the 
meadows,  or  a  blue-fringed  gentian  standing  erect 
among  the  brown  herbage  of  the  fields.  But  amid  the 
general  desolate  appearance  of  nature,  the  scarlet  ber 
ries  of  the  prinos  are  conspicuous  among  the  wild 
shrubbery ;  and  the  wych-hazel,  clad  in  a  full  drapery 
of  yellow  blossoms,  stands  ready  with  joyful  hues  to 
welcome  the  Indian  summer. 

The  Indian  summer,  which  arrives  during  this  third 


STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

autumnal  period,  if  it  comes,  at  all,  is  a  brief  period  of 
warm  weather,  that  sometimes  greets  our  climate  in 
November,  after  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  and  not  as  many 
suppose  in  October.  It  is  probably  caused  by  the  sud 
den  check  given  to  vegetable  perspiration,  by  the  fall  of 
the  leaves.  It  is  well  known  that  by  sprinkling  a  floor, 
to  cool  a  room  in  hot  weather,  we  cause  the  heat  to  be 
carried  off  with  the  evaporation  of  the  water.  On  the 
same  principle,  the  infinite  host  of  trees,  whose  leaves 
are  constantly  evaporating  the  moisture  of  the  earth, 
must  proportionally  cool  its  surface,  and  the  atmosphere 
that  is  in  contact  with  it.  Any  thing  that  increases 
evaporation  from  the  earth's  surface  must  cool  it  in  the 
same  manner.  Hence  we  may  explain  the  greater  cold 
ness  of  the  air  over  valleys  and  wet  places  on  summer 
evenings,  and  the  fact,  often  noticed,  that  a  rainy  spell 
in  autumn  is  commonly  succeeded  by  severe  frosts. 
The  greater  burden  of  the  foliage  of  our  woods  remains 
on  the  trees  and  shrubs,  until  the  severe  frosts  in  the 
latter  part  of  October.  About  this  time  the  whole 
extent  of  our  forests  is  often  laid  bare  in  the  brief  space 
of  a  week  or  ten  days.  Not  only  does  this  great  extent 
of  surface,  thus  laid  open  to  the  sun,  receive  from  his 
rays  an  increased  amount  of  heat,  but  there  is  a  vast 
and  sudden  diminution,  at  the  same  time,  of  that  evap 
oration  which  is  caused  by  the  leaves  of  plants.  These 
two  circumstances  unite  in  producing,  when  no  out 
ward  agencies  interfere,  a  great  accumulation  of  heat. 
The  warm  spell  that  follows  is  the  true  Indian  summer, 
and  may  last  from  five  to  eight  days.  During  one  of 
these  spells  of  fine  weather,  I  have  sometimes  heard  the 
crickets  chirping  merrily  as  late  as  the  eighteenth  of 
November. 

But  our  climate  is  exposed  to  such  a  variety  of  influ- 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF.  287 

ences,  by  our  geographical  position,  that  the  kind 
intentions  of  nature  are,  as  it  were,  often  defeated.  In 
the  ordinary  course  of  things,  we  should  be  favored 
every  year  with  this  genial  period  of  sunshine  and 
warmth.  But  the  north  winds  will  sometimes  rush 
down  prematurely  upon  our  territories,  and  bring  winter 
along  before  its  time.  Farewell,  then,  to  the  Indian 
summer  for  that  season.  The  tuneful  insects,  after 
chirping  incessantly  during  all  the  early  autumn,  are 
obliged  to  sink  into  their  winter  sleep,  without  singing 
the  requiem  of  the  year.  Rustic  toils  and  rural  sports 
are  brought  to  a  sudden  termination,  and  the  only 
beings  who  seem  to  rejoice  are  the  boys,  who  are  de 
lighted  with  an  early  opportunity  to  renew  the  sports  of 
winter. 


XXXVI. 

THE    INDIAN    SUMMER. 


TH'  autumnal  hues  have  faded  in  the  woods ; 

The  birds  have  left  their  flowerless  solitudes. 

The  leaves  are  falling  fast,  and  from  the  sky, 

The  chilly  breezes  may  be  heard  to  sigh, 

As  often,  in  their  now  deserted  bowers, 

The  north  wind  eddies  o'er  the  graves  of  flowers. 

Our  rural  haunts  are  desolate  and  drear, 

And  all  the  wild  domain  is  brown  and  sere, 

The  many-tinted  groves,  the  cool  recess, 

The  summer  shelter  for  our  weariness, 

Are  opened  rudely  to  the  glare  of  day, 

And  wintry  winds  within  their  arbors  play. 

Some  late-born  asters  linger  on  the  plains, 

That  come  not  out  till  summer's  beauty  wanes ; 

And  pale  gerardias,  in  our  woodland  walk, 

Are  hardly  faded  on  their  wilted  stalk ; 

And  gentians  with  their  eyelids  fringed  with  blue, 

Still  glitter  in  the  morning's  frosty  dew ;  — 

But  few  will  trust  their  flowers,  now  summer 's  past, 

To  wintry  winds  and  rude  November's  blast. 


THE   INDIAN   SUMMER.  289 

But  though  the  flowers  have  faded  on  the  hill, 

Full  many  an  object  charms  the  senses  still ; 

For  even  the  dark  brown  naked  woods  are  full 

Of  pleasant  sounds  and  prospects  never  dull. 

The  woody  glens  are  open  to  the  sun, 

Who  lingers  in  the  bowers  he  used  to  shun. 

The  leafy  forest  windows  are  unclosed ; 

The  ferns  that  summer  hid  are  now  exposed. 

The  trailing  evergreens  and  hair-like  moss 

Peep  through  the  scattered  leaves,  with  livelier  gloss-;. 

And  many  a  curious  relic,  to  reward 

The  rambler's  toil,  is  scattered  o'er  the  sward. 

When  nature  hides  one  page,  her  hands  unfold 

One  no  less  bright,  we  could  not  else  behold : 

And  as  the  months  perform  their  annual  round, 

O'er  beauty's  grave  is  new-born  beauty  found. 

Oft  in  this  month,  with  bright  complacent  smile,. 
The  sun  dispels  the  frowning  clouds  awhile ; 
Lifts  up  the  misty  curtain  that  conceals 
The  heavenly  radiance  summer's  sky  reveals ; 
Sheds  softer  azure  on  the  calm  blue  sea, 
And  spreads  a  greener  verdure  on  the  lea. 
Shortly  before  December  rules  the  year, 
Upon  the  wintry  skies,  new  signs  appear ; 
A  milder  planet  guides  the  hours  of  night,. 
And  fairer  day-beams  harbinger  the  light. 
Thus  in  an  hour  of  sorrow,  when  opprest 
By  anxious  cares  that  steal  away  our  rest,. 
Will  unexpected  gleams  of  hope  arise, 
And  chase  the  clouded  prospect  from  our  eyes.. 

The  summer  sun  once  more  regains  his  sway ; 
O'er  the  brown  landscape  breathes  a  warmer  ray  ;. 

25 


290  STUDIES  IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOKEST. 

Sheds  o'er  the  rising  mist  a  roseate  hue, 

And  bathes  the  cheeks  of  morn  once  more  in  dew ; 

To  prisoned  zephyrs  grants  a  short  reprieve, 

And  binds  fresh  roses  o'er  the  brows  of  eve  : 

Calls  up  the  sweet  south  wind  —  the  wind  that  bears 

Aerial  sweets  a  fairer  clime  prepares, 

And  sends  it  forth  dispensing  stores  of  balm, 

Culled  from  the  groves  that  bear  the  date  and  palm. 

Then  the  soft  breezes,  stored  with  fresh  perfumes, 

Entice  the  bee  to  seek  the  faded  blooms. 

Insects  awaking  from  their  torpid  state, 

As  with  new  life,  are  joyful  and  elate. 

The  crickets  from  their  little  burrows  flee, 

And  strike  their  winged  harps  in  all  their  wonted  glee. 

The  summer  flies  once  more  are  gambolling 

Upon  the  waters,  and  the  meadows  ring 

With  tiny  voices,  as  they  gayly  call 

All  nature  to  their  joyous  festival. 

The  sun  shines  out  with  dim  but  powerful  blaze, 

Illuming  all  the  wide  surrounding  haze  :  — 

The  rising  mist  November's  breath  distils, 

When  warmer  days  have  loosed  the  mountain  rills. 

The  winds  and  waves  are  silent  on  the  shore  ; 

The  hoarfrost  glitters  in  the  fields  no  more ; 

The  squirrel  sits  again  upon  her  bough ; 

The  swain  has  yoked  his  oxen  to  the  plough. 

The  sparrow  sings  again  his  social  song, 

And  calls  out  from  the  woods  his  feathered  throng. 

Whole  flocks  of  birds  emerge  from  sheltered  coves, 

To  greet  the  pleasant  scenes  of  former  loves. 

The  merry  village  children  have  come  out, 

And  in  the  sunshine  make  a  joyful  rout. 

The  ducks  are  more  loquacious  in  the  pool, 

Rejoicing  in  the  season's  gentler  rule. 


THE    INDIAN    SUMMER.  291 

And  such  I  deem  a  boon  from  nature's  hand, 

To  aid  the  weakness  of  her  mortal  band. 

'Tis  thus  she  grants  to  those  who  have  delayed 

Their  later  tasks,  a  seasonable  aid, 

To  help  the  weak  and  backward  to  provide 

Those  comforts  cheerless  winter  has  denied. 

Then  do  the  little  emmets  rise  to  mend 

Their  injured  hillocks  ere  the  season's  end. 

And  man  is  not  then  idle ;  he  derives 

A  blessing  from  this  gift ;  spring  toil  revives ; 

The  work  of  early  seed-time  is  begun  ; 

All  his  neglected  harvest  toil  is  done ; 

And  the  poor  cottager,  who  gleans  the  earth, 

To  gather  fuel  for  her  lonely  hearth, 

Blesses  the  God  and  helper  of  the  poor, 

For  this  bright  sunshine  round  her  cottage  door. 

All  creatures  that  are  destined  soon  to  die, 

Again  awake,  and  come  abroad,  and  ply 

Their  various  toils ;  make  merry  while  they  stay, 

And  live  before  their  fate  a  pleasant  holiday. 


XXXVII. 

PICTURESQUE     ANIMALS. 


IT  may  be  observed  that  in  pictures,  when  a  certain 
effect  is  required,  an  animal  is  often  introduced  whose 
character  and  habits  correspond  with  the  scenery,  or  the 
sentiment  to  be  awakened.  A  scene  in  nature,  without 
some  such  accompaniment,  often  fails  in  producing  any 
emotion  in  the  mind.  A  heron  standing  on  the  borders 
of  a  solitary  mere,  a  kingfisher  sitting  on  the  leafless 
branch  of  a  tree  that  extends  over  the  tide,  a  wood 
pecker  climbing  the  denuded  branch  of  an  oak,  yield  to 
the  respective  scenes  in  which  they  are  represented,  a 
life  and  a  character  which  could  not  be  so  well  ex 
pressed  without  them.  A  few  cows  grazing  on  a  grassy 
slope,  a  dog  reposing  at  the  door  step  of  a  cottage,  or 
a  cat  quietly  slumbering  inside  of  the  window,  are 
each  suggestive  of  pleasant  images  of  rural  life,  and 
add  greatly  to  the  interest  of  the  scene.  The  majority 
of  animals  require  to  be  seen  in  connection  with  cer 
tain  other  objects  to  acquire  a  picturesque  expression  ; 
but  there  are  others  which  are  endowed  with  this 
quality  in  a  remarkable  degree,  and  need  only  to  be 
seen  in  any  situation  to  awaken  a  certain  agreeable  train 


of  images. 


PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS.  293 

Among  birds  the  owl  is  often  represented  in  engrav 
ings,  when  it  is  designed  to  impart  to  the  scene  a  char 
acter  of  desolation.  We  often  see  this  bird  accompany 
ing  a  picture  of  ruins  or  of  a  deserted  house,  and  in 
poetry  he  is  introduced  to  awaken  certain  peculiar 
trains  of  thought.  Thus  the  poet  Gray,  when,  he  would 
add  a  desolate  expression  to  his  description  of  evening, 
speaks  of  the  owl  as  complaining  to  the  moon  of  such 
as  molest  his  ancient  solitary  reign.  The  allusion  to 
his  nocturnal  habits,  and  to  his  solitary  dominions, 
brings  still  more  vividly  to  mind  those  qualities  with 
which  the  image  of  the  bird  is  associated.  His  appro 
priate  habitations  are  the  ruined  tower,  the  ancient 
belfry,  or  the  hollow  of  an  old  tree.  In  all  such  places, 
the  figure  of  the  owl  is  deeply  suggestive  of  those 
fancies,  which  are  awakened  by  the  sight  of  ancient 
dilapidated  buildings,  crumbling  walls,  and  old  houses 
supposed  to  be  the  residence  of  wicked  spirits  which 
are  permitted  to  visit  the  earth. 

It  is  on  account  of  these  dreary  and  poetic  associa 
tions  that  the  owl  is  so  truly  picturesque.  He  is  often 
seen,  in  paintings  and  engravings,  perched  on  an  old 
gateway,  or  on  one  of  the  bars  of  an  old  fence,  whose 
posts,  leaning  obliquely,  show  that  they  have  been 
heaved  by  the  frosts  of  many  winters.  In  certain  situ 
ations  our  slumbers  are  sometimes  disturbed  by  the 
peculiar  hooting  of  this  bird,  that  awakens  in  the  mind 
the  gloomy  horrors  of  midnight.  His  nocturnal  and 
solitary  habits,  the  unearthly  tones  and  modulation  of 
his  voice,  his  practice  of  frequenting  rude  and  desolate 
places  and  haunted  houses,  have  caused  his  image  to 
be  intimately  connected  with  mystery  and  gloomy  fore 
bodings  of  .evil.  The  very  stillness  of  his  flight  yields 
a  sort  of  mysterious  character  to  the  bird  ;  all  these  cir- 

25* 


294  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

cumstances,  combined  with  his  fabled  reputation  for 
wisdom,  and  his  demure  and  solemn  expression  of 
countenance,  have  conspired  to  render  the  owl  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  of  all  living  creatures. 

The  bat  is  another  creature,  in  some  respects,  of  simi 
lar  habits  and  reputation.  Like  the  owl,  it  naturally 
seeks,  for  its  retreat  during  the  day,  those  unfrequented 
places  where  it  is  not  liable  to  be  disturbed,  and  has 
acquired  a  character  and  expression  in  harmony  with 
the  scenes  it  frequents.  But  it  is  remarkable  that 
while  the  owl  has  obtained  an  emblematical  character 
for  wisdom,  the  bat  is  regarded  as  the  emblem  of  guilt. 
He  is  represented  as  shunning  the  broad  eye  of  day,  and 
as  flying  out  on  leathern  wing,  after  the  dusky  shades 
•of  evening  may  serve  to  hide  him  from  detection. 
The  sight  of  the  bat,  however,  is  far  from  awakening 
in  our  minds  the  idea  of  guilt;  but  his  image  is 
strongly  suggestive  of  the  pleasant  serenity  of  evening, 
.as  the  butterfly  reminds  us  of  summer  fields  and 
flowers.  Our  ideas  of  the  bat  are  somewhat  grotesque; 
and  when,  after  the  graceful  swallow  has  retired  to  rest, 
we  observe  his  irregular  and  zigzag  flight,  we  are  una 
voidably  reminded  of  his  peculiar  hideous  formation, 
from  which  the  idea  of  making  him  an  emblem  of  guilt 
probably  originated.  It  would  seem  as  if  he  hid  him 
self  during  the  day,  lest  his  relationship  to  a  race  of  be 
ings  now  almost  banished  from  the  earth  might  be  dis 
covered.  His  emblematical  character  does  not  prevent 
his  forming  an  interesting  feature  in  a  rural  scene. 
Hence  in  pictorial  representations  of  evening,  we  see 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun  streaming  upward  in  beautiful 
radiations  from  behind  a  hill,  while  the  bat  is  flitting 
about  an  old  house,  in  a  rude  and  rather  quiet  land 
scape. 


PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS.  295 

All  animals  are  picturesque  which  are  consecrated  to 
poetry.  In  English  descriptive  poetry  the  lark  is  as 
familiar  to  us  as  the  rose  that  clambers  around  the 
cottage  door.  The  unrivalled  brilliancy  of  his  song 
which,  by  description,  is  impressed  on  our  minds  with 
a  vividness  almost  like  that  of  remembrance,  and  its 
continuance  after  he  has  soared  to  an  immense  height 
in  the  air,  cause  him  to  be  allied  in  our  minds  with  the 
sublimity  of  heaven,  as  well  as  with  the  beauty  and 
splendor  of  morning.  I  never  had  an  opportunity  to 
witness  the  flight  of  the  skylark ;  but  I  have  always 
imagined  that  the  sentiment  of  sublimity  must  greatly 
enhance  the  pleasure  with  which  we  gaze  upon  his  flight 
and  listen  to  his  notes.  The  very  minuteness  of  an 
object  soaring  to  such  a  sublime  elevation  gives  us  an 
idea  of  some  almost  supernatural  power,  and  his  de 
lightful  song  would  seem  to  be  derived  from  heaven, 
whither  he  takes  his  flight  while  giving  utterance  to  it. 
We  have  no  skylarks  in  America;  but  our  common 
snipes,  during  the  month  of  May,  are  addicted  to  this 
habit  of  soaring,  as  I  have  remarked  in  another  essay, 
for  a  few  hours  after  sunset.  I  have  often  watched 
them  in  former  times,  and  when  witnessing  their  spiral 
flight  upwards  to  a  great  elevation,  and  listening  to 
their  distinct  but  monotonous  warbling  after  they  have 
arrived  at  the  summit  of  their  ascent,  I  have  been  con 
scious  of  an  emotion  of  sublimity  from  a  spectacle 
which  might  be  supposed  too  trivial  to  produce  any 
such  effect.  The  picturesque  character  of  the  lark  is 
apparent  only  when  he  is  represented  in  his  soaring 
flight.  There  is  nothing  peculiar  in  the  appearance  of 
this  bird  as  in  that  of  the  owl.  The  sight  of  him  aloft 
in  the  heavens  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  suggest  the 


296  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD    AND    FOREST. 

idea  of  his  habits  and  to  make  his  true  character 
apparent  to  the  mind. 

Among  the  animals  mentioned  by  certain  writers  as 
possessing  in  an  eminent  degree  those  qualities  which 
appertain  to  the  picturesque,  is  the  ass.  This  point  in 
his  character  is  attributed  very  erroneously  to  his  shaggy 
and  uncouth  appearance.  It  may  assist  in  heightening 
the  expression  of  the  animal ;  but  there  are  various  ro 
mantic  and  poetical  ideas  associated  with  his  figure,  to 
which  this  quality  is  mainly  attributable.  If  it  were 
owing  to  his  rude  and  rough  exterior,  the  baboon  and 
the  hyena  would  be  as  picturesque  as  the  ass.  No  such 
ideas,  however,  are  associated  with  these  animals.  The 
ass  derives  much  of  this  character  from  his  connection 
with  the  incidents  of  romance  and  history.  He  is  the 
beast  of  burden  most  frequently  mentioned  in  the  Old 
Testament,  in  the  Fables  of  ^Esop,  and  in  the  writings 
of  oriental  travellers.  As  Dugald  Stewart  has  observed, 
we  associate  him  with  the  old  patriarchs  in  their  jour 
neys  to  new  lands ;  and  we  have  often  seen  him  form 
ing  an  important  figure  in  old  paintings  and  engravings. 
It  is  not  his  shaggy  coat  and  uncouth  appearance  that 
yield  him  his  picturesque  character,  so  much  as  the  in 
teresting  scenes  and  adventures  with  which  his  figure  is 
associated. 

The  same  remarks  may  be  applied  with  equal  pro 
priety  to  the  goat.  He  is  the  animal  of  mountain 
scenery,  and  the  sight  of  him  suggests  a  variety  of  ro 
mantic  incidents,  connected  with  such  landscape.  He 
is  often  represented  as  standing  on  precipitous  heights, 
and  browsing  upon  dangerous  declivities.  He  is  in  fact 
one  of  the  dumb  heroes  of  dangerous  adventure.  With 
the  inhabitants  of  mountainous  countries,  as  among 
the  Alps  and  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  the  goat  is 


PICTUKESQUE  ANIMALS.  297 

the  domesticated  animal  that  supplies  them  with  milk. 
The  hardiness  and  activity  of  the  goat,  his  frequent  in 
troduction  into  pictures  of  Alpine  scenery,  and  his 
habit  of  finding  sustenance  in  wild  regions  and  fast 
nesses  where  no  other  animal  could  live,  combine  to 
render  his  image  strongly  suggestive  of  rusticity  and 
the  simple  habits  of  mountaineers. 

It  is  common  to  regard  the  uncouthness  of  the  ap 
pearance  of  these  animals  as  the  quality  from  which 
they  derive  their  picturesque  expression.  It  is  much 
more  probable  that,  on  account  of  the  absence  of 
beauty  of  color,  smoothness,  and  symmetry,  the  imagi 
nation  is  left  more  entirely  to  the  influence  of  the  poetic 
and  traditional  images  connected  with  these  animals. 
In  this  way  it  may  often  be  explained  why  rudeness  is, 
to  a  certain  extent,  a  negative  picturesque  quality,  be 
cause  it  leaves  the  imagination  entirely  to  the  sugges 
tions  of  the  scene ;  whereas,  if  it  were  very  beautiful, 
the  sight  would  be  more  agreeably  occupied  in  survey 
ing  its  intrinsic  beauties  than  in  dwelling  upon  its 
more  poetical  relations  to  certain  other  ideas  and 
objects. 

Why  is  the  horse  not  a  picturesque  animal,  it  may 
be  asked,  but  on  account  of  the  sleekness  of  his  ap 
pearance  ?  I  am  persuaded  that  his  sleekness  stands  in 
the  way  of  this  expression,  for  the  reason  that  it  causes 
him  to  be  associated  with  fashion  and  the  pomp  and 
pride  of  wealth.  Hence,  it  must  be  allowed  that  the 
only  horses  that  have  this  expression  are  'shaggy  ponies 
and  cart-horses.  This  proves  only  that  their  rough  ex 
terior  is  tNe  indication  of  the  rusticity  of  their  habits, 
not  that  it  is  an  intrinsic  quality  of  the  picturesque, 
which  has  indeed  no  intrinsic  qualities,  like  beauty,  but 
depends  entirely  on  associations.  Were  the  case  re- 


298  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND    FOREST. 

versed,  and  were  animals  to  become  sleek  when  engaged 
in  rustic  employments,  and  rough  and  hairy  when  fed 
and  combed  and  pampered  by  wealthy  and  lordly  mas 
ters,  in  that  case  the  sleekest  animals  would  be  the 
most  picturesque.  The  squirrel,  which  is  a  sleek  and 
graceful  animal,  is,  in  spite  of  these  qualities,  more 
picturesque  than  the  rough  and  rusty  looking  rat.  In 
this  instance  the  usual  principle  is  reversed,  because  the 
smoothness  and  gracefulness  of  the  squirrel  are  asso 
ciated  with  his  interesting  habits  of  playfulness  and 
agility,  while  running  about  from  branch  to  branch 
among  his  native  groves.  On  the  contrary,  the  smooth 
and  symmetrical  horse  cannot,  by  any  pictorial  accom 
paniments,  be  made  so  expressive  as  the  rough  and 
homely  ass. 

I  have  just  alluded  to  the  squirrel  as  one  of  the  most 
picturesque  of  the  smaller  animals ;  but  it  is  worthy  of 
notice  that  it  must  be  represented  in  its  native  habitats 
to  express  this  character  in  full  force.  Though  a  squir 
rel  in  a  cage  is  a  beautiful  object,  especially  when  turn 
ing  his  revolving  grate  by  the  rapid  motions  of  his  feet, 
yet  a  picture  of  one  in  that  situation  would  have  none 
of  that  suggestiveness  of  poetical  and  agreeable  fancies 
that  renders  a  scene  picturesque.  In  a  representation 
of  a  little  cottage  in  the  woods  nothing  could'  add 
more  to  its  pleasing  pastoral  expression  than  the  figure 
of  a  squirrel  running  along  on  a  stonewall  or  on  the 
branch  of  an  old  tree.  The  sight  awakens  all  those 
poetical  images  which  are  associated  with  life  in  the 
fields.  Place  the  squirrel  in  a  cage  and  it  reminds  us 
only  of  the  town,  and  expresses  nothing  tha  ,  is  agree 
able  to  a  poetic  fancy.  Every  wild  animal  must  appear 
to  be  enjoying  its  freedom,  or  the  representation  of  it 
would  fail  in  giving  any  delight.  The  same  is  true  of 


PICTURESQUE   ANIMALS.  299 

the  human  race,  and  while  the  laboring  classes  add  to 
the  pleasing  character  of  a  scene  in  nature,  a  single 
figure,  male  or  female,  in  fashionable  apparel,  destroys 
the  whole,  effect.  Hence  almost  all  the  representations 
of  picnics  fail  in  awakening  any  poetic  emotions. 

A  shepherd,  when  properly  represented  with  his  crook, 
which  is  his  staff  of  office,  and  surrounded  by  the  ani 
mals  of  his  charge,  his  faithful ^dog,  the  rustic  cottage, 
the  sheepfold,  and  the  general  rude  scenery  of  nature, 
is  always  picturesque.  But  his  appearance  must  be 
entirely  that  of  a  shepherd,  without  any  of  the  ways  or 
the  gear  of  a  man  of  the  town.  I  have  seen  a  picture 
of  two  young  shepherds  in  the  Ambruzzi  mountains, 
painted  by  an  eminent  English  artist,  in  which  the 
characteristic  qualities  of  the  scene  are  entirely  de 
stroyed  by  a  certain  genteel  or  finical  air  and  expres 
sion  observed  in  their  countenance  and  attitudes.  In 
stead  of  rustic  shepherds  we  see  two  young  men,  each 
with  a  crook,  sitting  and  reclining  upon  a  rock.  They 
are  very  neatly  dressed,  and  look  as  if  they  were  young 
sprigs  of  the  nobility,  who  had  gone  into  the  mountains, 
for  a  few  days,  merely  to  play  shepherd ;  so  nicely  is 
their  hair  arranged,  that  the  longitudinal  parting  is  dis 
tinctly  seen,  caused  by  the  sleeking  away  of  the  hair 
on  each  side  of  the  head.  The  expression  of  their  faces 
corresponds  with  the  rest  of  their  appearance ;  one,  in 
particular,  having  that  look  of  conscious  self-satisfac 
tion  which  we  often  observe  in  a  silly  fop  of  the  town. 
The  very  manner  in  which  he  leans  his  head  upon  his 
thumb  and  fingers  betrays  his  concern,  lest  he  should 
spoil  the  arrangement  of  his  hair.  How  strange  that 
the  painter  of  this  piece  should  not  have  seen  that  all 
these  little  trifles  completely  ruined  the  picturesque 
character  of  his  painting! 


300  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  engravings  I  have  seen, 
represents  a  peasant  girl,  in  the  neat  and  simple  attire 
of  her  own  humble  station  in  life,  in  the  act  of  bearing 
a  pitcher  of  water  which  she  has  just  dipped  from  a 
rustic  well.  How  easily  might  the  designer  have  ruined 
the  whole  expression  of  this  piece,  either  by  making  the 
well  an  elegant  and  fanciful  structure,  or  by  making  the 
damsel  a  fine  lady  in  her  silks  and  laces.  The  sight  of 
a  picnic  party  assembled  together  in  the  woods  and 
pastures,  is  always  pleasing  ;  but,  as  I  have  already  in 
timated,  it  fails  in  interest  when  represented  on  canvas, 
because,  with  all  the  pleasing  images  connected  with  it, 
it  savors  of  the  vanity  of  fashionable  or  rather  of  town 
life.  After  witnessing  one  of  these  scenes,  while  jour 
neying  leisurely  in  a  chaise  on  a  pleasant  day  in  Octo 
ber,  I  chanced  to  see  a  group  of  little  country  girls,  in 
the  simplest  apparel,  gathering  nuts  under  a  tree. 
What  a  crowd  of  pleasant  recollections  of  the  past 
was  immediately. awakened  by  the  sight!  "  There  (ex 
claimed  my  companion)  is  a  scene  for  a  painter.  Such 
a  little  group,  in  a  picture,  would  afford  us  inexpressi 
ble  delight.  Yet  were  I  to  join  either  party,  I  should 
prefer  to  be  one  of  the  other  company  at  the  picnic." 
"  For  the  very  plain  reason,"  I  replied,  "  that  in  the 
latter  company  you  would  expect  to  find  some  intelli 
gent  persons  who  would  be  interesting  companions. 
But  this  is  not  what  we  look  for  in  a  picture,  which 
pleases  in  proportion  to  the  simplicity  of  its  charac 
ters." 

These  remarks  might  be  indefinitely  extended ;  but 
each  new  example  would  serve  only  to  repeat  the  illus 
tration  of  the  same  principle.  In  no  other  engravings 
do  we  see  the  picturesque  more  clearly  exemplified  than 
in  the  vignettes  which  are  found  in  books  published 


PICTURESQUE  ANIMALS.  301 

early  in  the  last  century.  Since  luxury  has  extended 
into  the  circle  of  the  middle  and  industrious  classes,  the 
simplicity  of  their  habits  has  been  destroyed,  and  artists, 
when  drawing  their  designs  from  the  manners  of  these 
classes,  have  failed  in  producing  pictures  equal  in  poetic 
expression  to  those  which  were  made  one  hundred  years 
ago.  It  is  apparent,  for  example,  that  the  ancient  straw 
beehive,  surrounded  by  its  swarm,  formerly  introduced 
into  vignettes  as  emblematical  of  industry,  is  decidedly 
picturesque ;  while  the  modern  patent  structures,  con 
structed  for  purposes  of  economy,  would,  in  fanciful 
engravings,  excite  ideas  no  more  poetical  than  we 
should  find  in  a  modern  revolving  churn.  Modern  cus 
toms  and  improvements  are  rapidly  sweeping  away 
from  the  face  of  the  earth  every  thing  that  is  poetic  or 
picturesque.  It  may  be  urged,  however,  that  the  sum 
of  human  happiness  has  been  proportionally  increased. 
This  I  am  inclined  to  doubt;  and  to  maintain,  on  the 
contrary,  that  just  in  proportion  as  we  depart  from  the 
simple  habits  of  the  early  era  of  civilization,  do  we 
create  wants  that  cannot  be  gratified,  and  lose  those 
tastes  which  are  most  promotive  of  happiness,  and  in 
harmony  with  the  designs  of  nature  and  of  providence. 

26 


XXXVI11. 

DECEMBER. 


IT  is  one  of  the  most  cheerful  employments  for  a 
leisure  hour,  to  go  out  into  the  fields,  under  a  mild,  open 
sky,  to  study  the  various  appearances  of  nature  that 
accompany  the  changes  of  the  seasons,  and  to  note 
those  phenomena  which  are  peculiar  to  a  climate  of 
frost  and  snow.  The  inhabitant  of  the  tropics  with  his 
perpetual  summer,  who  sees  no  periodical  changes 
except  the  alternations  of  rain  and  drought,  is  deprived 
of  a  happy  advantage  possessed  by  the  inhabitant  of 
the  north  ;  and  with  all  the  blessings  of  his  voluptuous 
climate,  is  visited  by  a  smaller  portion  of  the  moral 
enjoyments  of  life.  In  the  minds  of  those  who  dwell 
in  a  northern  latitude,  there  are  sentiments  which  are 
probably  never  felt  by  the  indolent  dweller  in  the  land 
of  the  date  and  the  palm ;  and  however  poetical  to  us 
may  seem  the  imagery  drawn  from  the  pictures  we  have 
read  of  those  blissful  regions,  ours  is  most  truly  the 
region  of  poetry,  and  of  all  those  sentiments  which 
poetry  aims  to  express. 

It  will  not  be  denied  that  in  winter,  nature  has  com 
paratively  but  few  attractions  ;  that  the  woods  and  fields 
offer  but  few  temptations  to  ramble  ;  and  that  these  are 


DECEMBER.  303 

such  as  appeal  to  the  imagination,  rather  than  to  the 
senses,  by  furnishing  matter  for  studious  reflection,  and 
calling  up  pleasing  and  poetic  images.  The  man  of 
phlegmatic  mind  sees,  in  all  these  phenomena,  nothing 
but  dreariness  and  desolation ;  while  to  the  studious  or 
the  imaginative,  every  form  of  vegetation  on  the  sur 
face  of  the  earth  becomes  an  instructive  lesson,  or 
awakens  a  train  of  imagery  that  inspires  him,  on  a  win 
ter's  walk,  with  a  buoyancy  not  often  felt  in  the  balmy 
days  of  June.  Then  does  he  trace,  with  unalloyed 
delight,  every  green  leaf  that  seems  budding  out  for 
spring ;  and  in  the  general  stillness,  every  sound  from 
abroad  has  a  gladness  in  its  tone,  not  surpassed  by  the 
melodies  of  a  summer  morning. 

On  these  pleasant  days  of  winter,  which  are  of  fre 
quent  occurrence  in  our  variable  climate,  I  often  indulge 
myself  in  a  solitary  ramble,  taking  note  of  those  forms 
of  vegetation  that  remain  unchanged,  and  of  the  still 
greater  number  that  lie  folded  in  hyemal  sleep.  For 
such  excursions  the  only  proper  time  is  when  the  earth 
is  free  from  snow,  which,  though  a  beautifier  of  the 
prospect,  conceals  all  minute  objects  that  are  strewed 
upon  the  ground,  or  that  are  still  feebly  vegetating 
under  the  protection  of  the  woods.  The  most  promi 
nent  appearances  are  the  remains  of  autumnal  vegeta 
tion.  The  stalks  of  the  faded  asters  are  still  erect,  with 
their  downy  heads  shaking  in  the  breeze,  which  has 
already  scattered  their  seeds  upon  the  ground ;  and  the 
more  conspicuous  tufts  of  the  golden-rods  are  seen  in 
nodding  and  irregular  rows  under  the  fences,  or  bending 
over  the  ice  that  covers  the  meadows  where  they  grew. 
All  these  are  but  the  faded  garlands  of  nature,  that 
pleasantly  remind  us  of  the  past  festivities  of  summer, 
of  cheerful  toil,  or  studious  recreation. 


304  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

Nature  never  entirely  conceals  the  beauties  of  the 
field  and  wood  save  when,  for  their  protection,  she 
covers  them  with  snow.  The  faded  remnants  of  last 
summer's  vegetation  may  have  but  little  positive  beauty ; 
but  to  the  mind  of  the  naturalist  they  are  attractive  on 
account  of  the  lessons  they  afford  and  the  sentiments 
they  awaken.  But  there  are  objects  in  the  wood  which 
are  neither  faded  nor  leafless  ;  and  many  that  are  leaf 
less  still  retain  their  beauty  and  the  appearance  of  life. 
Besides  the  evergreens,  many  of  the  herbs  that  bear  the 
early  spring  flowers  still  retain  their  freshness,  and 
spread  out  their  green  leaves  in  the  protected  nook  or 
in  the  recesses  of  the  fern-covered  rocks.  The  leaves 
of  the  wild  strawberry  and  the  cinquefoil  are  always 
green  in  the  meadows,  and  those  of  the  violet  on  the 
sheltered  slope  of  the  hill.  The  crowsfoot  and  the  ge 
ranium  are  in  many  places  as  fresh  as  in  May  ;  and 
the  aquatic  ranunculus  and  the  wild-cresses  are  brightly 
glowing  with  their  emerald  foliage,  in  the  depths  of  the 
crystal  watercourses  that  remain  unfrozen  beneath  the 
.wooded  precipice,  or  in  the  mossy  ravines  of  the  forest. 
These  phenomena  are  doubly  interesting  as  evidences 
of  the  continued  life  of  the  beautiful  things  they  rep 
resent,  and  of  the  invisible  and  ever  watchful  provi 
dence  of  nature.  Every  step  we  take  brings  under  our 
review  other  similar  curiosities  of  vegetable  life,  which, 
by  rea'son  of  their  commonness,  often  escape  our  obser 
vation.  On  the  sandy  plain  the  slender  birch-trees  are 
loaded  with  thousands  of  purple  aments,  suspended 
from  their  flexile  twigs,  all  ready  to  burst  into  bloom  at 
the  very  first  breath  of  spring.  In  the  wet  lands,  where 
the  surface  is  one  continued  sheet  of  ice,  the  crowded 
alder-bushes  are  so  full  of  these  embryo  blossoms,  that 
their  branches  seem  to  be  hung  with  dark  purple  fruit ; 


DECEMBER.  305 

and  the  sweet-fern  of  the  upland  pastures,  in  still  mild 
weather,  often  faintly  perfumes  the  atmosphere,  with 
the  scent  of  its  half-developed  leaves  and  flowers. 

But  the  face  of  nature,  at  this  time,  is  not  an  unfruit 
ful  subject  for  the  poet  or  the  painter.  The  evergreens, 
if  not  more  beautiful,  are  more  conspicuous  than  at 
any  other  season  ;  and  there  are  many  beautiful  stream 
lets  that  ripple  through  the  woods,  and  often  in  their 
depths  find  protection  from  the  greatest  cold.  Around 
these  streams  the  embroidering  mosses  are  as  green  as 
the  grasses  in  May.  The  water-cresses  may  be  seen 
growing  freshly  at  the  bottom  of  their  channels,  and 
the  ferns  are  beautiful  among  the  shelving  rocks,  through 
which  the  waters  make  their  gurgling  tour.  When  the 
sun,  at  noonday,  penetrates  into  these  green  and  shel 
tered  recesses,  before  the  snow  has  come  upon  the  earth, 
when  the  pines  are  waving  overhead,  the  laurels  clus 
tering  with  the  undergrowth,  and  the  dewberry  (ever 
green  blackberry)  trailing  at  our  feet,  we  can  easily 
imagine  ourselves  surrounded  by  the  green  luxuriance  of 
summer.  Nature  seems  to  have  created  these  pleasant 
evergreen  retreats,  that  they  might  afford  to  her  pious 
votaries  a  shelter  during  their  winter  walks,  and  a  pros 
pect  to  gladden  their  eyes,  when  they  go  out  to  admire 
her  works,  and  pay  the  homage  of  a  humble  heart  to 
the  great  architect  of  the  universe. 

Nor  is  the  season  without  its  harvest.  The  sweet 
gale,  or  false  myrtle,  in  dry  places  gleams  with  dense 
clusters  of  greenish  white  berries,  that  almost  conceal 
the  branches  by  their  profusion  ;  the  pale  azure  berries  of 
the  juniper  are  sparkling  brightly  in  the  midst  of  their 
sombre  evergreen  foliage  ;  and  the  winter-berry,  or  black 
alder  bushes,  glowing  with  the  brightest  scarlet  fruit, 
and  resembling  at  a  distance  pyramids  of  flame,  are 

26* 


306  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

irregularly  distributed  over  the  wooded  swamps.  While 
the  barberries  hang  in  wilted  and  blackened  clusters 
from  their  bushes  in  the  uplands,  the  cranberries  in  the 
peat  meadows  shine  out  like  glistening  rubies,  from 
their  masses  of  delicate  and  tangled  vinery.  In  the 
open  places  of  the  woods,  the  earth  is  mantled  with  the 
•dark  glossy  green  leaves  of  the  gaultheria,  half  conceal 
ing  its  drooping  crimson  berries ;  and  the  mitchella  of 
a  more  curious  habit,  each  berry  being  formed  by  the 
united  germs  of  two  flowers,  (twins  upon  the  same 
stem,)  adorns  similar  places  with  fairer  foliage  and 
brighter  fruit. 

There  is  a  sort  of  perpetual  spring  in  these  protected 
arbors  and  recesses,  where  we  may  at  all  times  behold 
the  springing  herbs  and  sprouting  shrubbery,  when  they 
are  not  hidden  under  the  snow-drift.  The  American  hare 
feeds  upon  the  foliage  of  these  tender  herbs,  when  she 
exposes  herself  at  this  season  to  the  aim  of  the  gunner. 
She  cannot  so  well  provide  for  her  winter  wants  as  the 
squirrel,  whose  food,  contained  in  a  husk  or  a  nutshell, 
may  be  abundantly  hoarded  in  her  subterranean  gra 
naries.  The  hare  in  her  garment  of  fur,  protected  from 
the  cold,  feels  no  fear  of  the  climate ;  and  man  is 
almost  the  only  enemy  who  threatens  her,  when  she 
comes  out  timidly  to  browse  upon  the  scant  leaves  of 
the  white  clover,  or  the  heath-like  foliage  of  the  hyper- 
icurn. 

But  the  charm  of  a  winter's  walk  is  derived  chiefly 
from  the  flowerless  plants  —  the  ferns  and  lichens  of  the 
rocks,  the  mosses  of  the  dells  and  meres,  and  the  trail 
ing  wintergreens  of  the  shrubbery  pastures.  Many 
species  of  these  plants  seem  to  revel  in  cold  weather, 
as  if  it  were  congenial  to  their  health  and  wants.  To 
them  has  nature  intrusted  the  care  of  dressing  all  her 


DECEMBER.  307 

barren  places  in  verdure,  and  of  preserving  a  grateful 
remnant  of  summer  beauty,  in  the  dreary  places  of  win 
ter's  abode.  And  it  is  not  to  be  wondered,  that,  to  the 
fanciful  minds  of  every  nation,  the  woods  have  always 
seemed  to  be  peopled  with  fairy  spirits,  by  whose 
unseen  hands  the  earth  is  garlanded  with  lovely  wreaths 
of  verdure,  at  a  time  when  not  a  flower  is  to  be  found 
upon  the  hills  or  in  the  meadow. 

Whether  we  are  adapted  to  nature,  or  nature  to  us, 
it  is  not  to  be  denied,  that  on  the  face  of  the  earth, 
those  appearances  established  by  nature  are  more  con 
genial  to  our  feelings  than  others  strictly  artificial.  The 
lichen-covered  rocks,  that  form  so  remarkable  a  feature 
of  the  hills  surrounding  our  coast,  are  far  more  pleasing 
to  every  man's  sight  than  similar  rocks  without  this 
garniture.  All  this  may  be  partly  attributed  to  the 
different  associations  connected  with  the  two,  in  our 
habitual  trains  of  thought;  —  the  one  presenting  to  us 
the  evidence  of  antiquity,  the  other  only  the  disagree 
able  idea  of  that  defacement,  so  generally  attendant  on 
the  progress  of  pioneer  settlements.  Hence  the  lichens 
and  mosses,  upon  the  surface  of  the  rocks,  have  an 
expression  which  has  always  been  eagerly  copied  by 
the  painter,  and  is  associated  with  many  romantic 
images,  like  the  clambering  ivy  upon  the  walls  of  an 
ancient  ruined  tower. 

At  this  season,  when  the  greater  part  of  the  landscape 
is  either  covered  with  snow,  or  with  the  seared  and 
brown  herbage  of  winter,  this  vegetation  of  the  rocks 
has  a  singular  interest.  In  summer,  the  rocks  are  bald 
in  their  appearance,  while  all  around  them  is  fresh  and 
lively.  In  winter,  on  the  other  hand,  they  are  covered 
with  a  pale  verdure,  interspersed  with  many  brilliant 
colors,  while  the  surrounding  surface  is  a  comparative 


308  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

blank.  Some  objects  are  intrinsically  beautiful,  others 
are  beautiful  by  suggestion,  others  again  by  contrast. 
This  latter  principle  causes  many  things  to  appear  de 
lightful  to  the  eye  at  one  period,  which  at  other  times 
would,  by  comparison  with  brighter  objects,  seem  dull 
and  lifeless.  Hence  on  a  winter's  ramble,  when  there 
is  no  snow  upon  the  ground,  our  attention  is  fixed,  not 
only  upon  the  lichens  and  evergreens,  but  likewise  on 
the  bright  purple  glow  that  proceeds  from  every  plat  of 
living  shrubbery  which  is  spread  out  in  the  wild.  This 
appearance  is. beautiful  by  contrast  with  the  dull  sombre 
hues  of  the  surrounding  faded  herbage,  and  it  is  like 
wise  strongly  suggestive  of  the  life  and  vigor  of  nature. 
It  is  the  vivid  hue  of  health,  and  entirely  unlike  the  hue 
of  the  same  plants  if  they  were  dead  or  dying.  It  is 
not  necessary  that  we  should  have  meditated  upon  this 
idea,  in  order  to  be  affected  by  it.  We  are  all  uncon 
scious  physiognomists  of  the  face  of  nature ;  and  over 
a  wide  tract  of  country,  were  the  vegetation  blasted  in 
autumn,  by  some  secret  pestilence  that  had  destroyed 
its  vitality,  its  whole  aspect  would  be  such  as  to  sadden 
every  beholder,  though  unaware  of  the  fatal  event.  As 
the  human  face  in  sleep  wears  the  glow,  if  not  the 
animation  of  waking  life  —  so  the  face  of  nature,  in  her 
hyemal  sleep,  has  a  glow  that  harmonizes  with  our  feel 
ings  and  with  our  sense  of  universal  beauty. 

The  wild  wood  is  always  full  of  instruction  for  those 
who  are  mindful  either  of  its  general  aspects  or  its 
minuter  details ;  and  a  ramble  on  a  pleasant  winter's 
day  produces  on  the  mind  an  invigorating  effect  that 
might  be  used  as  a  safeguard  against  mental  depres 
sion.  The  landscape,  when  undisfigured  by  art,  is 
never  without  beauty,  and  the  woods  are  always  redo 
lent  of  sweet  odors  that  assist  in  perfecting  the  illusions 


DECEMBER.  309 

that  arise  from  agreeable  sights.  While  the  exercise 
thus  partaken  in  the  open  air  strengthens  the  body  and 
improves  the  health,  the  objects  presented  for  our  con 
templation  are  tonic  and  exhilarant  in  their  action  on 
the  mind.  Whatever  may  be  the  season  of  the  year,  to 
the  student  of  science  as  well  as  to  the  lover  of  beauty, 
something  is  always  presented  to  fix  his  attention  or 
awaken  his  admiration,  and  he  seldom  returns  from  a 
woodland  ramble  without  increased  cheerfulness  and  a 
prospect  of  new  sources  of  rational  happiness. 


XXXIX. 

OLD    HOUSES    AND     THEIR     INCLOSURES. 


WHEN  we  are  journeying  in  the  country,  we  have  all 
occasionally  felt  that  the  sight  of  the  finest  houses  and 
the  most  highly  ornamented  grounds,  does  not  always 
affect  the  mind  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  One  is  soon 
tired  of  objects,  however  beautiful,  that  produce  no 
other  effect  than  to  excite  an  agreeable  visual  sensation. 
Something  that  affords  a  pleasing  exercise  for  the  sym 
pathies  and  the  imagination  must  be  blended  \vith  all 
scenes  of  beauty,  or  they  soon  become  vapid  and  unin 
teresting.  When  one  first  enters  the  interior  of  a 
spacious  dome,  which  is  surrounded  with  colored  glass 
windows,  the  physical  sensation  of  beauty  thus  pro 
duced,  may  detain  him  a  few  moments,  with  extreme 
pleasure.  But  a  frequent  repetition  of  these  visits 
would  cause  the  spectacle  to  be  extremely  tiresome,  be 
cause  it  excites  the  eye  without  affecting  the  mind. 
The  very  opposite  effect  would  be  produced  by  visiting 
a  gallery  of  paintings,  because  there  is  no  end  to  the 
ideas  and  images  which  these  works  of  genius  may 
suggest  to  the  mind. 

In  like  manner  when  travelling  among  the  scenes  of 
nature  and  art,  many  a  highly  ornamented  house  passes 


OLD   HOUSES   AND   THEIR   INCLOSURES.  311 

before  our  eyes,  without  making  any  impression  upon 
the  mind,  that  differs  from  those  produced  by  examin 
ing  the  plates  of  fashions  in  the  window  of  a  tailor's 
shop.     As  we  proceed  further  into  the  country  we  pres 
ently  encounter  a  scene  that  awakens  a  different  class 
of  emotions,  that  seem  to  penetrate  more  deeply  into 
the  soul.     An  old  house,  containing  two  stories  in  front,, 
with  the  back  roof  extending  almost  to  the  ground,  is- 
seen  half  protected  by  the  drooping  branches  of  a  ven 
erable  elm.     A  Virginia  creeper  hangs  in  careless  fes 
toons  around  the  low  windows,  and  a  white  rose-bush' 
grows  luxuriantly  over  the  plain  board  fence  that  in 
closes  the  garden.     The  house  stands  a  few  rods  back 
from  the  street,  and  is  surrounded  in  front  and  on  one- 
side  by  an  extensive  grass  plat,  neatly  shorn  by  the 
grazing  animals,  while  sauntering  on  their  return  from 
pasture.     An  old  barn  is  near;  and  the  flocks  and  the 
poultry  seem  to  enjoy  an  amount  of  comfort  which  we 
might  look  for  in  vain,  in  the  vicinity  of  a  more  ornate 
dwelling-house. 

There  is  an  appearance  of  comfort  and  freedom  about 
this  old  house,  that  renders  it  a  pleasing  object  to 
almost  every  eye.  No  one  can  see  it  without  calling  to 
mind  the  old-fashioned  people  whom  we  always  sup 
pose  to  be  its  occupants.  About  it  and  around  it  we 
see  no  evidences  of  that  constraint  to  which  the  in- 
dwellers  and  visitors  of  some  more  fashionable  houses 
must  be  doomed.  The  exterior  is  associated  with  its 
interior  arrangements,  no  less  than  with  the  scenes 
around  it.  We  see,  in  the  mind's  eye,  the  wide  entry 
into  which  the  front  door  opens,  the  broad  and  angular 
staircase,  the  window  in  the  upper  entry,  that  looks  out 
upon  a  rustic  landscape  dotted  with  fruit-trees,  and 
patches  of  ploughed  land  alternating  with  green 


312  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

meadow.  By  the  side  of  the  staircase,  on  the  lower 
floor,  stands  an  ancient  clock,  whose  loud  striking,  and 
slow  stroke  of  the  pendulum,  are  associated  with  the 
old  style  of  low-studded  rooms.  Perhaps  by  studying 
the  cause  of  the  pleasant  emotions  with  which  we  con 
template  this  old  house,  we  may  arrive  at  the  knowl 
edge  of  a  principle  that  may  be  turned  to  advantage, 
in  regulating  our  own  and  the  public  taste. 

The  charm  of  these  old  houses,  which  are  marked  by 
neatness  and  plainness,  and  by  an  absence  of  all  pre 
tension,  is  founded  on  the  natural  yearning  of  every 
human  soul  after  freedom  and  simplicity.  In  them  we 
behold  the  evidences  of  a  mode  of  life,  which,  if  we 
could  but  rid  our  hearts  of  a  little  madness,  we  should 
above  all  choose  for  ourselves.  The  human  heart 
naturally  attaches  itself  to  those  scenes,  in  which  it 
would  be  free  to  indulge  its  own  natural  fancies.  But 
there  is  a  habit  stronger  than  nature,  derived  from  our 
perverted  education,  that  causes  us  to  choose  a  part 
that  will  excite  the  envy  of  our  neighbors,  in  preference 
to  oue  that  would  best  promote  our  own  happiness. 
Hence  a  man  chooses  to  be  embarrassed  with  expenses 
above  his  pecuniary  condition,  for  the  vain  purpose  of 
exciting  admiration,  rather  than  to  gratify  his  own 
tastes,  in  the  enjoyment  of  greater  freedom  and  a  more 
humble  and  frugal  mode  of  life. 

In  vain  does  the  worshipper  of  fashion,  by  planting 
an  ornate  dwelling-house  in  the  heart  of  a  forest,  en 
deavor  to  add  to  it  the  charm  of  a  rustic  cottage  in  the 
woods.  The  traveller,  as  he  beholds  its  proud  orna 
ments  glittering  through  the  trees,  sees  nothing  of  that 
charming  repose,  which,  like  a  halo  of  beauty,  sur 
rounds  the  cottage  of  the  rustic.  He  perceives  in  it 
the  expression  of  a  striving  after  something  that  is  in- 


OLD    HOUSES    AND    THEIR   INCLOSURES.  313 

compatible  with  its  affectations.  There  may  be  a  true 
love  of  nature  among  the  inmates  of  this  house,  who 
would  gladly  divorce  themselves  from  the  frivolities  of 
high  life.  But  they  cannot  consent  wholly  to  relinquish 
that  bondage  of  fashion,  which  overpowers  their  love  of 
freedom  and  simplicity,  as  the  appetite  of  the  inebriate 
causes  him,  in  spite  of  his  better  resolutions,  to  turn 
back  to  the  cup  that  is  destroying  him.  Nature  may 
harmonize  with  elegance,  refinement,  and  grandeur;  but 
not  with  pretence.  The  rural  deities  will  not  make 
their  hajmts  near  the  abode  of  vanity;  and  the  naiad,, 
when  she  sees  her  rustic  fountain  destroyed,  turns  sor 
rowfully  away  from  the  spouting  foam  of  a  jet  d>  eau. 

There  may  be  more  true  love  of  nature  in  the  in 
mates  of  this  ambitious  dwelling,  than  in  those  of  the 
rustic  cottage  ;  but  the  former  gives  no  evidence  of  this 
love,  if  it  is  built  in  a  style  that  expresses  that  folly 
which  is  continually  drawing  them  away  from  nature 
and  happiness.  Place  them  both  in  a  picture,  and  the 
fashionable  house  excites  only  the  idea  of  coxcombry, 
while  the  rustic  cottage  charms  all  hearts.  Is  it  not 
possible  to  borrow  this  indescribable  charm,  and  add  it 
to  our  country  residences?  Not  until  the  builder  or 
designer  has  become  as  one  of  these  rustics  in  the  sim 
plicity  of  his  heart,  and  is  content  to  forget  the  world 
when  he  is  planning  for  his  retirement.  Then  might 
the  traveller  pause  to  contemplate  with  delight,  a  house- 
in  which  the  absence  of  all  affectation  renders  doubly 
charming  those  rural  accompaniments,  in  which  the 
wealth  of  the  owner,  if  he  be  wealthy,  is  detected  only 
by  the  simple  magnificence  of  his  grounds,  and  his 
taste  displayed  by  the  charm  which  art  has  added  to, 
nature,  without  degrading  her  Fauns  and  her  Hama 
dryads  into  mere  deities  of  the  boudoir. 
27 


314  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND    FOREST. 

These  old  houses  with  a  long  back  roof  are  'not  the 
only  picturesque  houses  among  our  ancient  buildings; 
but  no  other  style  seems  to  me  so  truly  American. 
Wherever  we  journey  in  New  England,  we  find  neat 
little  cottages  of  one  story,  some  with  a  door  in  front 
dividing  the  house  into  two  equal  parts,  some  with  a 
door  at  the  side  of  the  front,  and  a  vestibule  with  a 
door  at  the  opposite  end.  It  is  common,  when  you 
meet  with  one  of  these  old  cottages,  in  the  less  fre 
quented  streets  in  the  country,  to  see  an  elm  standing 
in  front,  shading  a  wide  extent  of  lawn.  Sometimes 
there  may  be  merely  an  apple-tree  or  pear-tree  for  pur 
poses  of  shade.  A  rose-bush  under  one  of  the  windows, 
bearing  flowers  of  a  deep  crimson,  and  a  lilac  at  the 
corner  of  the  garden  near  the  house,  are  perhaps  the 
only  shrubbery.  These  humble  dwellings  are  the  prin 
cipal  attraction  in  some  of  our  old  winding  roads,  and 
they  are  remembered  in  connection  with  many  delight 
ful  rural  excursions.  The  rage  that  has  possessed  the 
sons  of  the  original  occupants  of  these  cottages  for 
putting  up  pasteboard  imitations  of  something  existing 
partly  in  romance  and  partly  in  the  imagination  of  the 
designer,  has  destroyed  the  rurality  of  many  of  these 
scenes  in  our  old  country  villages. 

Any  marks  of  pretension,  or  of  striving  after  some 
thing  beyond  the  supposed  circumstances  of  the  occu 
pants  of  a  house,  are  disagreeable  to  the  spectator. 
Could  the  sons  of  the  old-fashioned  people  who  occu 
pied  these  plain  dwellings  have  labored  to  preserve  the 
simplicity  and  rustic  expression  of  these,  combined  with 
a  purer  style  of  architecture,  the  effect  would  have  been 
exceedingly  pleasing.  They  have  done  just  the  oppo 
site  of  this.  They  seem  to  have  been  ambitious  to  ex 
clude  from  their  houses  every  thing  that  would  be 


OLD   HOUSES   AND   THEIR  INCLOSURES.  315 

remotely  suggestive  of  the  simple  habits  of  rural  life, 
and  have  endeavored  to  make  them  look  as  much  as 
possible,  with  one  hundredth  part  of  the  cost,  like  the 
villa  of  a  nobleman.  So  many  of  these  ambitious 
cottages  have  been  reared  in  many  of*  our  old  streets, 
as  to  have  entirely  destroyed  that  picturesque  beauty 
that  made  almost  every  route  a  pleasant  landscape. 
The  street,  once  covered  on  all  sides  with  those  rural 
scenes  that  charm  every  lover  of  the  country,  has  be 
come  as  tame  as  one  of  those  new-made  streets,  laid 
out  by  speculators,  to  be  sold  in  lots  under  the  hammer 
of  the  auctioneer. 

The  New  England  people  have  been  repeatedly  char 
acterized  as  wanting  in  taste ;  and  this  deficiency  is 
supposed  to  be  exemplified  in  the  entire  absence  of 
ornamental  work  about  our  old  houses  and  their  inclos- 
ures.  It  is  a  maxim  that  a  person  who  is  deficient  in 
taste  always  runs  to  an  extreme  in  the  use  of  ornaments, 
whenever  he  attempts  to  use  them.  Hence  the  pro 
fusely  decorated  houses  of  the  present  generation  do 
not  evince  any  positive  improvement  in  taste,  when 
compared  with  those  of  their  predecessors.  They  are 
simply  a  proof  that  the  people  of  the  present  time  have 
more  ambition  ;  but  that  want  of  taste,  which  a  former 
generation  exhibited  in  their  entire  disregard  of  ornament, 
is  manifested  in  their  successors,  by  their  profuse  and  in 
discriminate  use  of  it.  That  great  progress  has  been 
made  throughout  the  land,  will  not  be  denied;  but  the 
present  state  of  public  taste  is  perhaps  a  transition 
state  from  an  age  of  comparative  rudeness  to  one  of 
perfected  improvement. 

The  object  of  these  remarks  is  not  to  deride  wealth, 
but  to  condemn  the  ostentation  of  wealth  that  does  not 
exist,  instead  of  guiding  oneself  by  a  careful  study  of 


316  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

the  rules  of  taste.  An  intelligent  man  of  great  pecu 
niary  resources  would  reject  these  meretricious  decora 
tions,  as  the  mere  sham  substitute  for  something  better 
which  he  would  adopt,  because  he  could  afford  it.  The 
false  taste  which  is  censured  is  mere  architectural  hy 
pocrisy.  My  object  is  to  analyze  certain  of  our  emo 
tions  and  sentiments,  and  to  prove  thereby  that  the 
man  who  builds  a  showy  house,  not  only  offends  against 
good  taste,  but  also  essentially  mars  his  own  happiness. 
Why  do  we  contemplate  with  the  purest  delight  a  sim 
ple  cottage  in  a  half  rude,  half  cultivated  field,  except 
that  it  gives  indications  of  something  adapted  to  confer 
happiness  upon  its  inmates?  The  rustic  well,  with  a 
long  pole  fastened  to  a  lever,  by  which  the  bucket  is 
raised  ;  the  neat  stonewall  or  iron-gray  fence  that  marks 
the  boundary  of  the  yard ;  the  old  standard  apple-trees 
dotted  about  irregularly,  all  over  the  grounds ;  the 
never-failing  brook  following  its  native  circuitous  course 
through  the  meadow ;  all  these  objects  present  to  the 
eye  a  scene  that  is  strongly  suggestive  of  domestic 
comfort  and  happiness. 

Let  us  not,  in  our  zeal  for  rearing  something  beauti 
ful,  overlook  the  effect  of  these  venerable  relics  of  the 
more  simple  mode  of  life  that  prevailed  fifty  years  since. 
Let  us  not  mistake  mere  glitter  for  beauty,  nor  the 
promptings  of  vanity  for  those  of  taste.  Let  us  be 
ware,  lest  in  our  passion  for  improvement,  without  a 
rational  aim,  we  banish  simplicity  from  the  old  farm, 
and  allow  fashion  to  usurp  the  throne  of  nature  in  her 
own  groves.  Far  distant  be  the  time  when  the  less  fa 
miliar  birds  of  our  forest  are  compelled  to  retire  beyond 
the  confines  of  our  villages,  and  when  the  red-thrush  is 
heard  only  in  a  few  solitary  places,  mourning  over  that 
barbarous  art  which  has  destroyed  every  green  thicket 


OLD    HOUSES    AND    THEIR   INCLOSURES.  317 

of  native  shrubbery,  where  alone  she  makes  her  haunts. 
This  rage  for  foreign  shrubbery  is  fatal  to  the  birds, 
each  species  of  which  is  dependent  on  certain  native 
trees  and  shrubs,  for  subsistence  and  protection.  By 
eradicating  every  native  coppice,  and  planting  exotics 
in  their  place,  we  may  as  effectually  banish  the  thrushes, 
and  many  other  species  of  warblers,  from  our  territories, 
as  by  constantly  shooting  them. 

Another  style  of  old  houses  is  the  square  house  with 
a  hipped  roof,  usually  of  two  stories.  These  are  a 
little  more  pretending  than  the  others  I  have  described, 
and  are  more  frequently  seen  with  an  ornamental  fence 
in  front,  after  the  present  fashion.  Hence  they  are  less 
attractive  than  some  of  the  more  primitive  houses.  A 
more  pleasing  house  is  a  nearly  square  building  of  one 
story,  with  a  curb  roof,  having  the  front  door  at  the  ex 
treme  end  of  the  front,  and  a  vestibule  on  one  side, 
formed  by  extending  the  back  half  of  the  house  a  few 
feet,  with  only  half  a  roof,  making  the  door  in  the  vesti 
bule  and  the  front  door  face  the  same  way.  Modern 
improvers  say  there  is  no  beauty  in  these  old  houses. 
As  well  might  they  say  there  is  no  beauty  in  an  old 
tree,  unless  it  is  nicely  trimmed  arid  whitewashed. 
More  charming  to  the  sight  is  a  humble  two-story  house, 
unadorned  by  a  single  artistical  decoration,  with  a  ven 
erable  old  tree  in  front  and  a  wide  extent  of  lawn,  than 
the  most  showy  house  in  the  modern  filagree  style,  with 
its  narrow  inclosures,  its  stiff  spruces,  and  its  orna 
mental  fence  that  seems  purposely  designed  to  shut  out 
nature. 

One  principal  charm  of  a  cottage  consists  in  the  rural 

appurtenances    around   it  ;    and   the   less   inexpressive 

architectural  ornament  there  is  about  it  the  greater  is 

this  charm.     It  is  true  there  is  a  style  of  building  which 

27* 


318  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

is  always  pleasing  to  the  eye,  and  another  which  is 
either  offensive  or  unattractive.  A  good  style  differs 
from  a  bad  style  chiefly  in  suggesting,  by  its  external 
appearance,  all  those  exterior  and  interior  arrangements 
which  serve  to  make  it  a  happy  and  comfortable  resi 
dence.  This  is  the  principal  beauty  which  is  desirable 
in  a  dwelling  in  order  to  produce  the  most  charming 
effect.  There  are  certain  ornaments  the  utility  of  which 
is  riot  apparent;  but  every  thing  added  externally  to  a 
house,  in  accordance  with  the  rule  of  proportions,  that 
suggests  to  the  mind  an  additional  comfort  or  con 
venience,  renders  it  more  pleasing  to  the  sight.  Hence 
a  plain,  square  house,  without  a  single  projection,  is 
not  so  pleasant  to  look  upon  as  another  house,  whose 
wings  and  vestibules,  under  separate  roofs,  exhibit  at 
once  to  the  mind,  the  conveniences  within.  A  neatness 
and  elegance  of  finish  would  improve  it  still  further; 
but  any  inexpressive  ornaments  would  spoil  it.  There 
is  a  class  of  ornaments,  however,  which  are  beautiful 
from  suggesting  something,  independent  of  actual  util 
ity,  that  is  agreeable  to  the  imagination. 

I  would  venture  to  affirm  that  the  more  showy  the 
house,  other  things  being  equal,  the  less  pleasure  does 
it  confer  upon  its  owner  or  occupant.  A  perpetual  glitter 
soon  tires  upon  the  eye  and  wearies  the  mind.  There 
is  a  want  of  what  painters  call  repose  in  a  house  that 
is  excessively  ornate;  and  the  occupants  of  such  a 
house  must  feel  less  tranquil  satisfaction  in  it  than  in 
one  of  equal  convenience,  which  is  furnished  only  with 
such  ornaments  as  have  been  denominated  chaste. 
Chaste  pleasures  are  those  which  are  attended  by  no 
disgust  and  bring  no  repentance ;  and  chaste  ornaments 
resemble  them  in  this  respect,  by  giving  permanent  sat 
isfaction,  and  by  causing  no  fatigue  to  the  eye  or  re- 


OLD    HOUSES   AND    THEIR   ENCLOSURES.  319 

pentance  to  the  mind.  There  is  a  stronger  analogy 
between  these  two  things  than  any  one  who  has  not  re 
flected  upon  the  subject  can  be  aware  of.  It  is  safe  to 
assert  that  any  particular  style  of  building  and  grounds, 
which  serves  in  the  highest  degree  to  promote  the  hap 
piness  of  the  permanent  occupants,  will  confer  the  most 
enduring  pleasure  upon  the  beholder. 

We  frequently  admire  without  one  spark  of  affection, 
and  love  with  deep  affection  what  we  do  not  admire. 
But  more  pleasure  springs  from  love  than  from  admira 
tion  ;  and  when  people  madly  relinquish  those  humble 
scenes  and  objects  which  they  love,  to  obtain  those 
which  shall  glitter  in  the  public  eye,  tickle  their  own 
vanity  and  excite  the  envy  of  their  neighbors,  they 
commit  a  greater  error  than  the  most  bitter  declaimer 
against  pride  has  generally  imagined.  I  am  far  from 
believing  the  paradox,  maintained  by  Rousseau,  that 
man  is  more  happy  in  a  state  of  nature  than  in  a  civil 
ized  state.  This  author,  in  his  efforts  to  grasp  at  an 
important  truth,  reached  beyond  it.  That  great  truth  I 
believe  to  be  this  :  —  that  the  more  we  extend  and  cul 
tivate  the  moral  and  intellectual  advantages  and  refine 
ments  of  civilization,  while  we  tie  ourselves  down  to 
the  simple  habits  of  rustic  life,  the  greater  will  be  the 
sum  of  our  happiness. 


XL. 

THE    FLIOHT    OF   THE    WOOD-NYMPHS. 


ON  the  southern  slope  of  a  hill,  nearly  in  the  entrance 
of  a  valley,  stood  a  rustic  cottage  inhabited  by  a  plain 
industrious  farmer  and  his  family.  The  farm  which 
was  connected  with  the  cottage  was  a  beautiful  inter 
mixture  of  wood,  tillage,  and  pasture  ;  and,  imbosomed 
in  these  natural  groves,  the  glistening  waters  of  a  mini 
ature  lake  gave  animation  to  the  landscape,  and  became 
a  scene  of  rustic  sport  for  many  a  youthful  angler.  In 
front  of  the  cottage  was  an  irregular  grassy  slope,  ex 
tending  down  to  the  road  side,  and  wholly  uninclosed. 
Through  this  natural  lawn  a  narrow  footpath,  leading 
obliquely  from  the  street  to  the  door  step,  had  been  worn 
by  the  feet  of  passengers  ;  tufts  of  wild  shrubbery  grew 
here  and  there  about  the  rocks  that  projected  from  the 
surface  of  the  soil,  and  the  sweet  fern  diffused  its  odors 
within  a  rood  of  the  cottage  windows.  In  the  evening, 
a  small  herd  of  cows  might  be  seen  quietly  ruminating 
under  a  rugged  old  oak,  that  stood  about  thirty  paces 
from  the  house. 

In  the  month  of  May  this  place  was  a  favorite  resort 
for  all  the  children  of  the  village,  on  account  of  the 


FLIGHT   OF   THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  321 

multitude  and  variety  of  wild  flowers  that  grew  there, 
and  the  many  pleasant  arbors  afforded  by  the  woods 
that  overshadowed  the  borders  of  the  lake.  On  these 
green  hill-sides  they  might  often  be  seen  weaving  chains 
of  the  stems  of  the  dandelion,  or  stringing  white  and 
blue  violets  upon  a  thread,  with  which  they  made  gar 
lands  and  necklaces  to  add  to  their  own  simple  apparel. 
Later  in  the  season,  old  and  young  resorted  hither,  to 
gather  berries  that  grew  abundantly  in  these  grounds 
and  the  neighboring  pastures.  Many  a  May-queen  has 
been  crowned  with  the  trailing  evergreens  that  abounded 
in  these  wild  lands,  and  covered  the  meadows  with  ver 
dure  in  the  depth  of  winter;  and  the  children  have 
returned  home  with  baskets  full  of  checkerberries  and 
garlanded  with  early  spring  flowers. 

There  was  something  about  the  whole  aspect  of  this 
place  that  was  unaccountably  delightful.  Every  one 
who  visited  it  felt  inspired  with  a  mysterious  sense  of 
cheerfulness  and  pensive  delight,  that  could  hardly  be 
explained,  as  there  were  in  the  same  village  many  mag 
nificent  country-seats,  with  highly  ornamented  grounds, 
that  failed  in  awakening  any  such  emotions.  Here 
nothing  had  ever  been  done  to  add  a  single  ornament 
to  the  face  of  nature,  but  in  all  parts  of  the  landscape 
there  was  a  beauty  that  seemed  unattainable  by  art.  It 
became  evident,  at  last,  that  these  groves  and  pastures 
must  be  the  residence  of  the  rural  deities,  who,  by  their 
invisible  presence,  inspired  every  heart  with  those  de 
lightful  sentiments,  which,  though  not  entirely  unfelt  on 
earth,  are  well  known  only  in  Paradise.  It  was  the 
presence  of  these  deities  that  yielded  the  place  its  mys 
terious  charms.  It  was  the  naiad  who  gave  romantic 
melody  to  the  fountain  that  bubbled  up  from  the  mossy 
glen  in  the  hill-side,  and  spread  the  hue  of  beauty  over 


322  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

the  solitary  lake  in  the  valley  ;  and  the  dryads,  or  wood- 
nymphs,  that  caused  these  woodland  arbors  to  rival  the 
green  retreats  of  Elysium. 

In  these  rural  solitudes  were  assembled  all  those 
little  harmless  animals,  which  by  their  motions  and 
frolics  seem  to  give  life  to  the  inanimate  scenes  of 
nature.  Here  were  not  only  all  the  familiar  birds  that 
delight  in  the  company  of  man  ;  but  all  the  less  familiar 
birds,  that  love  to  chant  their  wild  melodies  in  the  hid 
ing-places  of  the  solitary  echoes,  might  also  be  heard  in 
the  season  of  song.  The  red-winged  starling,  long 
exiled  from  our  villages,  still  uttered  his  melancholy 
ditty  among  the  willows  in  the  valley,  and  weaved  his 
nest  among  the  tall  rushes  that  rose  out  of  the  water. 
The  ruff-necked  grouse  beat  his  muffled  drum  in  the 
adjoining  forest,  and  the  hermit  thrush  poured  forth  his 
indescribable  strains,  like  some  voice  that  had  wan 
dered  from  the  groves  of  Idalia.  Even  in  the  depth  of 
winter,  the  hearts  of  the  farmer  and  his  family  were 
cheered  by  a  multitude  of  merry  voices,  that  seemed  to 
be  peculiar  to  the  place. 

This  charming  spot  soon  became  celebrated  in  all  the 
country  around  for  its  romantic  beauties ;  and  it  was 
eagerly  coveted  by  many  people  of  wealth  who  were 
seeking  a  place  of  rural  retirement.  The  cottager  who 
had  lived  here  ever  since  his  birth,  regarded  it  with 
affection  and  reverence,  as  his  own  paternal  homestead. 
But  there  are  not  many  who  can  resist  the  temptation 
of  gold  to  make  a  sacrifice  either  of  principle  or  affec 
tion,  and  the  rustic  possessor  of  this  little  farm  was  not 
one  of  them.  He  sold  it  to  a  man  of  »wealth  and  cul 
tivated  taste,  whose  wife  and  daughters  were  unaffected 
lovers  of  nature,  and  who  were  delighted  with  the  idea 
of  occupying  a  place  that  was  celebrated  as  the  resort 


FLIGHT   OF   THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  323 

of  the  wood-nymphs  and  other  deities  of  the  groves. 
The  new  proprietor  determined  to  adorn  and  improve  it 
to  the  utmost  extent.  He  resolved  that  the  decorations 
of  the  modern  landscape  art  should  be  added  to  the 
advantages  it  had  derived  from  nature ;  the  beauties  of 
other  climes  should  be  ingrafted  upon  it,  and  the  whole 
work  should  be  crowned  with  the  best  efforts  of  the 
sculptor  and  the  architect. 

In  accordance  with  these  plans,  the  work  of  beauti 
fying  and  improving  the  place  was  commenced.  Stand 
ard  English  works  on  landscape  gardening  were  con 
sulted  ;  the  great  Italian  painters  were  studied  for  hints 
which  nature  is  supposed  to  communicate  only  through 
their  medium,  and  Brown  and  Repton  guided  the  taste 
of  the  improver  in  all  his  operations.  The  rustic  cot 
tage  was  removed  to  a  distant  spot,  and  a  splendid 
Italian  villa  was  erected  in  the  place  of  it.  No  labor 
nor  money  were  spared  in  the  effort  to  give  it  all  the 
external  and  internal  finish  which  would  be  needful  to 
adorn  a  palace.  Every  piece  of  work  was  tasteful  and 
correct;  no  counterfeit  imitations  of  valuable  orna 
ments  were  allowed;  and  when  the  edifice  was  com 
pleted,  the  most  scientific  architect  could  find  no  fault 
with  it.  It  stood  forth  proudly  on  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
one  of  the  masterpieces  of  villa  architecture. 

The  elegance  of  the  mansion  made  it  the  more  ap 
parent  that  the  grounds  must  be  improved,  that  the 
appearance  of  nature  might  harmonize  with  the  work 
of  the  architect.  On  the. grassy  slope  that  fronted  the 
cottage,  there  were  occasional  projections  of  the  rock 
that  was  buried  underneath  the  soil,  and  around  these, 
various  species  of  wild  shrubbery  had  come  up  in  many 
a  tufted  knoll.  These  prominences  were  split  off,  and 
covered  with  loam,  and  the  whole  surface  was  graded 


324       STUDIES  IN  THE  FIELD  AND  FOREST. 

into  a  beautifully  even  and  rounded  lawn.  The  wood 
anemone,  the  mouse-ear,  and  the  saxifrage  no  longer 
spangled  the  grassy  slope  in  early  spring,  nor  the  aster 
nor  the  golden-rod  stood  there  to  welcome  the  arrival 
of  autumn.  But  tulips  grew  proudly  in  a  fanciful  bor 
der  of  spaded  earth,  under  the  side  windows  in  the 
opening  of  the  year,  and  verbenas,  portulaccas,  and  cal 
ceolarias  outshone  all  the  native  summer  beauties  of  the 
landscape. 

Surrounding  the  field  that  adjoined  the  cottage  was 
an  old  stonewall,  gray  with  lichens  and  covered  with 
numerous  wild  vines  that  had  clustered  round  it,  as  the 
ivy  intwines  itself  round  the  walls  of  ruined  castles 
and  abbeys  in  the  old  world.  The  clematis  over 
shadowed  it  with  flowers  and  foliage  in  summer,  and 
with  its  beautiful  silken  down  in  the  fall  of  the  year ; 
and  the  celastrus  grew  with  it  side  by  side,  offering  its 
honeyed  flowers  to  the  bee,  and  its  scarlet,  bitter-sweet 
berries  to  the  hand  of  the  simpler,  or  to  the  famishing 
winter  birds.  Among  this  vinery  the  summer  warblers 
built  their  nests ;  and  numbers  of  them  were  revealed 
to  sight,  when  the  foliage  was  swept  away  by  the  late 
autumnal  winds. 

The  ladies  of  the  mansion  would  not  readily  consent 
to  the  removal  of  this  old  stonewall,  with  its  various 
rustic  appurtenances,  which  seemed  to  them  a  part  of 
the  original  charms  of  the  place ;  but  they  were  soon 
convinced  that  the  villa  ought  not  to  stand  in  the  midst 
of  such  shabby  "  surroundings."  They  were  plied  with 
arguments  drawn  from  the  works  of  men  who  had 
studied  nature  in  the  galleries  of  art,  and  through  the 
medium  of  canvas,  and  were  persuaded  to  believe  that 
the  principles  of  English  landscape  gardening  must 
never  be  sacrificed  to  the  crude  notions  of  a  poetic 


FLIGHT   OF    THE    WOOD-NYMPHS.  325 

mind.  The  ladies  gave  up  their  impulses  in  favor  of 
the  cold  rules  of  professional  taste.  The  stonewall  was 
removed;  the  wild  rose  and  the  eglantine  were  de 
stroyed  ;  the  flowering  shrubs  that  formed,  on  each  side 
of  it,  a  glistening  row  of  bloom  and  verdure,  were 
rooted  up ;  a  neat  paling  fence  was  erected  as  a  tem 
porary  boundary,  and  a  hedge  of  buckthorn  was  planted 
all  around  the  old  pasture ! 

The  lawn  in  front  of  the  mansion  was  inclosed  by 
an  ornamental  fence,  and  the  narrow  footpath  that  led 
up  to  the  rude  door  step  of  the  cottage,  meeting  in  its 
course  an  occasional  tuft  of  epira?a  and  low  laurel, 
gave  place  to  a  neatly  gravelled  walk,  four  feet  six 
inches  wide,  and  shaped  into  a  graceful  serpentine 
curve.  The  inclosure  was  filled  with  exotic  shrubbery ; 
and  silver  maples,  silver  poplars,  and  silver  firs  stood  at 
proper  distances,  like  sentinels  to  guard  the  portals  of 
this  temple.  The  grounds  were  likewise  embellished 
with  statuary,  and  large  marble  vases,  holding  some 
flaunting  exotic,  stood  in  their  assigned  positions. 

Two  years  had  not  elapsed  before  the  design  of  the 
improver  was  completed,  and  the  \vhole  aspect  of  the 
place  was  changed,  as  if  by  enchantment.  The  rustic 
cart  paths  that  led  over  the  hills,  and  through  the  woods 
and  valleys,  were  widened  and  covered  with  a  neat 
spread  of  gravel,  and  all  their  crooked  outlines  were 
trimmed  into  a  graceful  shape.  An  air  of  neatness 
was  apparent  in  every  direction.  The  undergrowth  of 
the  wood  was  removed,  certain  misshapen  trees  were 
cut  down,  and  all  rubbish  was  taken  away  that  could 
afford  a  harbor  to  noxious  insects  or  mischievous  quad 
rupeds.  The  lake  that  was  embroidered  with  alders, 
swamp  roses,  button  bushes,  the  fragrant  clethra  and 
the  drooping  andromeda,  was  improved  by  the  removal 

28 


326  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

of  all  these  useless  plants,  and  gravel  and  loam  were 
carted  down  to  its  edges,  which  were  then  covered  with 
soil  and  sowed  with  grass  seed,  to  afford  a  neat  and 
lawn-like  appearance  to  the  grounds,  and  to  visitors  a 
firm  foundation  for  their  feet.  The  frequent  tufts  of 
shrubbery  that  gave  a  ragged  look  to  the  pasture  were 
likewise  removed,  and  the  whole  was  planted  with  the 
most  approved  grasses. 

Not  many  rods  from  the  cottage  was  a  natural  foun 
tain  that  bubbled  up  from  a  subterranean  source  on  the 
hill-side,  from  which  the  farmer  irrigated  the  greater 
part  of  his  lands.  It  was  a  true  rustic  fountain,  girded 
on  one  side  by  steep  fern-clad  rocks,  and  overshadowed 
by  the  gnarled  and  twisted  branches  of  the  aquatic 
hornbeam,  one  of  the  most  grotesque  and  beautiful 
trees  in  the  forest.  From  this  fountain  issued  a  rivulet, 
which  was  conducted  along  the  declivity,  until  it  poured 
its  waters  into  a  wooden  trough,  and  formed  a  water 
ing  place  for  the  cattle.  These  objects  were  altogether 
too  rude  to  be  admitted  as  a  part  of  the  map  of  im 
provements.  The  bed  of  the  fountain  was  excavated 
into  a  deep  and  spacious  reservoir,  and  from  this  a  pipe 
was  carried  along  underground  to  the  front  yard,  where 
it  terminated  in  a  jet  d?  eau,  that  issued  from  a  marble 
basin,  and  threw  up  a  wide  and  graceful  spray. 

The  inmates  of  the  villa  were  charmed  with  the 
result  of  these  operations.  There  was  an  air  of  ele 
gance  and  "  high  keeping"  about  the  grounds,  that  cor 
responded  judiciously  with  the  splendor  of  the  villa 
and  its  outbuildings.  No  wild  bushes  were  left  in 
straggling  tufts,  to  suggest  the  idea  of  poverty  or  neg 
ligence  on  the  part  of  the  proprietor;  and  the  pasture, 
which  was  full  of  a  great  variety  of  wild  plants  or 
w^eeds,  was  repeatedly  ploughed  and  pulverized  to  destroy 


FLIGHT   OF  THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  327 

them,  and  afterwards  "  laid  down  "  to  legitimate  Eng 
lish  grasses.  The  dandelion  and  buttercups  were  no- 
more  to  be  seen  in  the  spring,  or  the  rank  hawkweed  in 
the  autumn.  Through  this  lawn  neat  gravel  walks 
were  made,  that  visitors  might  stroll  there  in  the  morn 
ing  without  getting  wet  by  the  dews.  Many  of  the- 
slopes  were  provided  with  marble  steps,  and  here  andi 
there,  in  the  centre  of  a  clump  of  firs,  was  erected  a 
marble  statue  to  emblemize  some  one  of  the  rural! 
deities. 

But  where  stands  the  idol,  there  we  may  not  feel  the' 
presence  of  the  deity.  In  vain  do  we  strive  to  com 
pensate  nature,  when  we  have  despoiled  her  of  her 
original  charms,  by  calling  in  the  aid  of  the  sculptor,, 
whose  lifeless  productions  serve  only  to  chill  the  imagi 
nation  that  might  otherwise  revel  among  the  wizard 
creations  of  poetry.  The  images  of  Ceres,  of  Galatea,, 
or  of  the  heavenly  huntress,  were  not  attractive  to  the 
beings  whom  they  were  intended  to  represent.  The 
naiad  no  longer  sat  by  her  fountain,  which  was  held  in; 
a  marble  basin,  and  sent  up  its  luminous  spray,  in  the 
midst  of  the  costly  works  of  art.  The  dryads  had  for 
saken  the  old  wood,  whose  moss-grown  trees  were 
deprived  of  their  variegated  undergrowth,  and  of  the 
native  drapery  that  hung  from  their  boughs.  They 
wept  over  the  exiled  bird  and  the  perished  flowers  of 
the  wild  wood,  and  fled  sorrowfully  to  some  new  andi 
distant  haunts.  The  nymphs  who  used  to  frequent 
these  shady  retreats  had  also  fled.  Woods,  groves,, 
hills,  and  valleys  were  all  deserted ;  and  the  cold,  lifeless 
forms  that  were  carved  out  of  marble  stood  there  alone,, 
the  mere  symbols  of  charms  that  no  longer  existed. 

The  village  children,  who  formerly  assembled  here  to 
gather  bouquets  of  wild  roses,  red  summer  lilies,  and; 


328  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

the  sweet  scented  pyrola,  that  grew  up  like  a  nun  under 
the  shade  of  the  deep  woods,  came  often  since  the  im 
provements,  but  searched  in  vain  for  their  favorite 
flowers.  They  no  longer  saw  the  squirrel  upon  the  tree 
or  the  nest  of  the  sparrow  upon  the  vine-clad  walls. 
The  grounds,  that  seemed  once  to  belong  to  them  as 
well  as  to  their  rustic  proprietor,  now  exhibited  some 
thing  in  their  aspect  that  made  them  feel  like  intruders, 
as  soon  as  they  set  foot  within  their  borders.  These  old 
woods  and  pastures,  now  that  they  were  metamorphosed 
into  park  and  lawn,  had  lost  their  charms  for  them,  and 
they  turned  away  with  sadness,  when  they  thought  of 
those  delightful  arbors  that  would  shelter  them  no  more. 

But  the  children  were  not  the  only  sorrowers.  The 
ladies  of  the  mansion  were  grieved  when  they  found 
that  the  rural  deities  had  fled  from  the'  very  objects 
which  were  erected  for  their  shrines.  The  cause  of 
their  flight  was  a  problem  they  could  not  explain. 
Why  would  they  no  longer  dwell  in  their  ancient  abodes 
that  seemed  now  so  much  worthier  the  residence  of 
beings  of  a  superior  nature  ?  Could  not  the  beautiful 
green  lawn  that  had  taken  the  place  of  the  weedy  pas 
ture  ;  the  commodious  park  which  was  once  a  tangled 
wood  ;  could  not  the  charming  flowers  of  all  climes 
which  had  been  substituted  for  the  inferior  wild  flowers  ; 
nor  the  marble  fountain  with  its  graceful  spray,  nor  the 
neat  spread  gravel  walks  induce  them  to  remain? 
More  than  all,  could:  not  the  beautiful  statuary  that 
represented  them  in  material  shape,  please  them  and 
retain  them  in  their  ancient  haunts  ? 

At  length  they  began  to  suspect  that  there  was  a  too 
entire  absence  of  rustic  scenes  and  objects  in  their 
present  arrangements ;  and  forthwith  to  appease  the 
deities,  rustic  arches  and  bowers,  made  of  rude  mate- 


FLIGHT   OF  THE   WOOD-NYMPHS.  329 

rials,  were  erected  and  placed  in  different  parts  of  the 
grounds.  A  summer-house  was  built  of  the  rudest  of 
logs,  shingled  with  the  rough  bark  of  trees,  and  rocks 
were  introduced  for  seats  and  covered  with  mosses. 
Fences  were  constructed  in  similar  style,  and  various 
other  rude  devices  were  executed  and  distributed  in  a 
fanciful  manner  over  the  face  of  the  landscape.  But 
not  even  the  shaggy  goat-footed  Pan  would  acknowl 
edge  any  such  thing  for  an  altar.  No  such  objects 
could  be  made  to  accord  with  the  "  high  keeping  "  of 
the  grounds,  nor  could  they  give  an  air  of  rusticity  to 
scenes  that  were  so  elaborately  ornamented.  They 
were  mere  pieces  of  affectation ;  blotches  upon  the  fair 
surface  of  beauty,  that  served  no  other  purpose  but  to 
add  deformity  to  the  unique  productions  of  art. 

One  day,  as  the  ladies  were  strolling  pensively  along 
their  accustomed  paths,  lamenting  that  nothing  could 
be  done  to  appease  the  divinities  whom  they  had 
offended,  they  discovered  in  a  little  nook,  under  a  cliff 
that  projected  over  a  rude  entrance  into  the  wood,  a 
slab  of  weather-stained  slate,  resembling  a  headstone. 
Observing  that  it  was  lettered,  they  knelt  down  upon 
the  green  turf  and  read  the  following 

INSCRIPTION. 

In  peaceful  solitudes  and  sylvan  shades 

That  lure  to  meditation ;  where  the  birds 

Sing  all  day  unmolested  in  their  haunts, 

And  the  rude  soil  still  bears  the  tender  wilding  — 

There  dwell  the  rural  deities.     They  love 

The  moss-grown  trees  and  rocks,  the  flowery  knoll, 

The  tangled  wild  wood,  and  the  bower  of  ferns. 

They  fill  each  scene  with  beauty,  and  they  prompt 

The  echoes  to  repeat  the  low  of  herds 


330  STUDIES   IN   THE   FIELD   AND   FOREST. 

And  bleat  of  tender  flocks.     The  voice  of  him 

Who  drives  his  team  afield  ;  the  joyous  laugh 

Of  children,  when,  on  pleasant  days,  they  come 

To  take  from  gentle  spring  her  gift  of  flowers, 

Are  music  to  their  ears.     All  these  they  love  ; 

But  shun  the  place  where  wealth  and  art  have  joined 

To  shut  out  nature  from  her  own  domains, 

Or  dress  her  in  the  flaunting  robes  of  fashion. 

Wouldst  thou  retain  them  ?  —  keep  a  humble  heart, 

Nor  in  their  temples  seek  to  show  thy  pride, 

Or  near  their  altars  to  parade  thy  wealth  ; 

Then  may  they  come  and  dwell  with  thee,  as  once 

With  simple  shepherdess  and  rural  swain. 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


PRINTEDIN  U.S.A. 


IVA   001 


